I was sitting in detention, when another hockey stampede flooded the halls. They bumped into a girl, and made her drop all her notes. I checked the hallway before leaving the room, and went out to help. To my surprise, it was Lana. She seemed nervous to see me, though. Like she wasn't sure if I was going to bite her, or use some kind of vampire hypnosis on her. At least, that's what I'd be worried about.
She stood up, and said, "Thank you, Grim. But I have to tell you: my parents don't want us seeing one another. They don't like your type, I think. To be honest, I thought that... using booze on me to drop my guard was a low move. And I was hoping for a kiss, not... for you to bite me."
I had two options: one, I could explain to her AGAIN that it wasn't me who did that; two, I could just do what she was asking. I chose the second one, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She turned bright red.
"See? No biting. I'm not in the mood," I joked. "And I'm not going to use any tricks, that's not my style. You'll see, I'm not that type at all."
She dropped some papers, staring straight at me, unsure what to say. I bent over to get them for her, and put them back in her little stack.
"I-I've gotta get to class now," she stammered.
Then she walked away, but she looked back a couple of times. She seemed pretty steamed up, and I don't mean she was angry. Honestly, I was a bit of a train whistle myself, right then and there. I felt like I could blow at any minute. I didn't understand why, but sometimes, less is more. Drake had tried both of us for a fruit peel with his teeth; he'd done exactly what vampires are supposed to do: tempt people with extremity. But all it did was gross me out, and it didn't make her want him because he'd let her think it was me. Sure, she was into the darkness of it, but in a 'running away with the script' kind of way. Like an actor that gets REALLY into the scene. What I just did seemed to have a much more profound impact, and I could have done that in front of anyone. It was the most polite response to affection anyone could think of, and it was entirely unvampiric. Maybe it was the contrast between the two that she was interested in, not someone who tried to go all the way in either direction. Like... someone who's tempted, but has reasons to control theirself. Not someone who abstains out of trying to appease the social scene, because nobody else thought I deserved it; and definitely not a booze-bug who went too far where nobody could see it. No, it looks like sometimes, your feelings are there to move you... AND, you can guide them with your thoughts, too. And they say romance is undead!
The moment was pierced by a different kind of bite: the dull, sudden chomp of an idiot with a barbecued sausage on a stick. It was Tank, and he was shoving me out of his way.
"Aren't you supposed to be in detention?" he said bluntly.
"Where are you off to?" I asked. "Where'd you get the barbecue?"
"The game is on," he said. "Coach's wife made these. If you're not locked in there, you should come with."
"...are you gonna be a jerk to me if I go?" I asked cautiously.
He shook his head. "Not everything's about you, numbskull. Just move your ass, go get your jacket. I'm not waiting more than a minute."
I rushed back into the detention room, and got my winter gear on. Jacket, boots, hat, and gloves. Then I came back out, and followed Tank to the rink.

Everyone was gathered there, cheering for the players in the rink. The school had put up three-tiered stands to watch from, and they were practically full. Parents, students, and more. They were playing the team from British Columbia, it looked like. I sat next to Tank, which was odd.
I asked him, "Aren't you on the team? Shouldn't you be playing?"
Tank grimaced, and growled with frustration. "They cut me out for Drake. I didn't feel like playing, anyway."
I didn't know everyone on the team, but I was surprised they didn't keep him as a benchwarmer, at least. I wonder if Drake and Tank didn't get along. For all Richard's queer-bashing locker-talk, he seemed to cater to Drake's sensibilities more than the kid who actually hated homosexuality. Could Richard be posturing?
A whiff of barbecue caught me, and I wanted to- stop. Yeah, never mind. But wait, is she... is Marya grinding that meat herself? Is that... fresh chicken? 'Okay. Yeah. Yes. I'm doing this,' I told myself. I didn't see any organs in that grinder, which meant I could go for it. I went down to grab a kebob, and Marya smiled at me as she passed me one. I put some catsup on it, and gave her the thumbs-up. Then I went back to where I was. I saw Lana make her way into the crowd, but she didn't see me. Probably for the best, we could both use a cold minute apart. I'd barely kept myself to her cheek, to be honest. That would have sent her parents raving mad, if I'd missed. Nick sat on the other side of me, instead.
"How's your finger?" I asked him.
He shrugged. "It's okay. It's not broken, it just hurts. I feel really stupid for punching that post."
Down in the rink, Drake was making trails with his skates. It looked like, for once, he wasn't drunk. Probably a smart choice, just for the game. Max was behind him, and Drake passed the puck. Max was, by far, the more experienced player, and he slapped that thing into the net so fast, the goalie had to double-take just to figure it out. It was home and away, 2 to 3. We were losing, but the game was moving fast. It was only the first period. The bell rung, in the belltower next to the school. THWAAAANGGG. The tower was huge, and I was surprised we even had one when I first got here, months ago. Most schools would just have a little one, in an arch. I was told it was a historic site, and that actually, it had been built a few years before construction on the school had even started. Today, they were using the bell to mark the end of each period, which was neat. But also, probably confusing to everyone else in town, who were used to hearing it when school was in or out.

Second period starts. Drake takes the puck from the middle, and wobbles a bit on his skates. A boy from the other side takes it, and weaves through two of ours. He shoots – Jules blocks it. He's pretty good on net, for a skinny guy. Long arms. The puck slides back west, and Max takes it forward. But Drake butts in, and steals the puck from his own teammate. He shoots, and he scores! 3 to 3. But Max is sitting on the ice, looking confused. He'd been pushed, and slammed into the boards. Drake raises a fist, and everyone is kind of hesitant to cheer for him. But they do, anyway. A goal is a goal, right? Richard's the one cheering the loudest. Next puck-drop, Max decides that, even if he's left of center, it's his. So he cuts in, and tries to break for it. Two guys crush him, and he's back on his butt again, puck going east. Drake slaps it, and it hits Max in the stomach while he's getting up. Max doubles over onto his knees, but he gets up faster than you'd think, looking an angry red. He trips Drake with his stick, and makes him fall straight onto his face. Drake gets up, wobbles some more, and the two start fighting. The other team scores just before they start duking it out, so it's 3 to 4. Richard blows his whistle, to break them up. He puts Max in the penalty box, and the little guy is looking absolutely furious.
"That's BULLSHIT", he yells.
But the game goes on. Down one player, our team's not the same. Not without its star forward, which Drake is not. He tries to push it west, but THREE from the other team crowd him, and steal it from him. Drake tries to hit one of them in the back of the head with his stick, but he dodges, and lays Drake out with a single punch. Richard blows his whistle again, and tries to help Drake up. But the kid refuses, and pushes his dad away. He holds his head, and starts crying. Richard is forced to put Drake back on the bench, to recover. He dotes on the boy, who refuses to be patronized in the slightest – even when it's for his own good.
"Can I get you a drink, my boy? Are you hurt?" Richard asks, deeply worried.
"NO," Drake shouts, "Leave me alone, you ASSHOLE! You should take that guy out of the GAME, he PUNCHED ME!"
Richard shakes his head, bewildered. "But you tried to hit him first. He was only defending himself."
Drake pouts, and starts bawling. Richard hugs him, and says "there, there. But next time: don't be such a pussy, okay?"
Drake shoves him off, and says, "Fuck you."
Damn. That's pretty harsh, even for him.
Richard looks a little bit destroyed, at that. "If that's how you feel, then you're..." He looks back, and sees the game, waiting to be finished. "...you're just gonna have to get the hell back in there, okay? Make your dad proud."
Drake spits blood on his dad's shoes.
"Oh, real nice," says Richard. "That's being a team player."
Drake gets back into the game, and the puck is dropped again. Drake doesn't get it, and it goes east. But Jules blocks it, and it bounces back west. Drake shoots, he SCORES! 4 to 4.
THWAAAANG. That's the end of second period.

Third period. Tony takes center, and loses the puck on the drop. But he goes back for it, and when Drake tries to take it from him, he side-checks Drake into another player. But this time, they just laugh.
The other boy jeers, "You gonna go cry to your dad?"
Drake shouts with anger, not a word but a grunt. He doesn't want to be humiliated again, not in front of everyone. I can't imagine what it must be like to play in front of a bunch of other kids whose necks you've been biting, after jamming schnopps down their throats. If that were me, I'd feel guilty as sin, and I wouldn't be able to move. But as the players skate around, batting the puck back and forth, Drake doesn't register a thing; not even from the crowd watching him with latent ire. They're tired of his antics, and now, they just want the game to be over. But all Coach cares about is winning his own way, which is why he's kept the team short even though Max's penalty is over. He doesn't want Drake and Max to fight again, and ruin the game. Max sits in the box, pissed off with every missed pass and fumbled deke.
"LET ME BACK IN, COACH!" he shouts. "I CAN SAVE THIS GAME!"
Coach ignores him. It's all about preserving his son's claim to fame, I guess. Making it look like Drake carried the team, when in fact, it's been the whole team carrying Drake.
Tony is about to shoot the game-winning goal, when Coach blows his whistle and calls foul play... on his own player. The other coach is confused, but goes along with it. They bring the puck to the east side, for some reason which I don't think anyone in the stands understood. But Drake is switched with Tony, for center. Ah. Coach wants Drake to score the winning shot... of course. So the puck is dropped, and Drake takes it forward. He shoves Tony into three of the other players, hurting all four of them. Then he stops in front of the net, looking afraid to shoot. The goalie stares at him, and Drake flashes his freaky, hand-filed fangs at him. The poor kid turns white with fear, and while he's paralyzed, Drake scores. 5 to 4, just as the third period ends. The bell goes off, three times. THWAAANG, THWAAANG, THWAAAANNGG. Everyone in the stands should be cheering, but they're shaking their heads. Richard and Drake have ruined the game for them, and nobody cares that they won. Nobody except Mr. Fly, who's overjoyed.
He cries with glee, "Oh, stuPENDOUS! Just MARVELLOUS! Oh, what a show!! What FUN!"
Yeah, right. That's what all that was: the good old hockey game, just like you remember it. A whole lotta 'fun'.
Tank is rubbing his hands together, to keep them warm. "That wasn't too bad, actually. We could use more shoving like that, I thought that was pretty strategic."
Nick shakes his head with disappointment. "Man... that's just not hockey."
I shake my head too. We get up, I toss my kebob stick into the trash, and we leave. Compared to seeing that again, I'd rather be back in detention.