Josie Griffin Is Not a Vampire Read Online Free
Author: Heather Swain
noise the clicking of shoes somewhere ahead of me and the soft murmur of a few voices. I followed the sounds around a corner and saw the same group of kids filing into a room. My heart pounded and my stomach churned. I did not want to be there. I shouldn’t have been there. I didn’t have an anger problem. I could control my anger when I wanted to; I just didn’t want to that one time and look where it landed me. It was so unfair.
These kids were probably real delinquents, although they looked harmless enough. But you could never tell. Sometimes the most ordinary looking people end up being the sickest. Look at Kevin. Everyone thought he was such an all-around good guy, Mr. Basketball, Tennis Captain, Class VP, leader of the young men’s prayer circle by day. But by night, he was a total jerk. I knew for a fact that he and his friends would buy beer, shoplift snacks from a 7-Eleven, score some weed, and break in to empty houses to party, then they’d drive around harassing people or he’d end up at Madison’s house while I was home studying or making pep rally signs like a blinded fool. So maybe the so-called “bad kids” were just the ones who got caught.
My plan was to slip into the room, take a seat in theback, and listen like a journalist. Maybe I would even take notes and write about my experience on my blog. No matter what, I was going to keep my head down and do my best to make sure no one would notice me. Except that when I got inside I saw that a) the chairs were arranged in a circle and b) the only one not occupied was at the opposite end of the room and c) that chair was beside the creepy peeper guy who looked inside my car. Great. Of course, since I was the new girl, everybody stopped what they were doing and stared at me. I felt like a bunny hopping through a fox’s den. I walked quickly with my head down, hoping they’d lose interest in me if I appeared uninteresting.
When I got to the open seat, the creepy peeper looked up at me, raised an eyebrow, and flashed me a cheesy grin. I rolled my eyes at him and plopped down in the seat.
The last person through the door was clearly the therapist. He was probably my dad’s age with a full beard and short sandy gray hair. He wore pressed plaid pants and Hush Puppies shoes that were almost silent on the linoleum. He glanced around the circle, nodding to each person until he got to me and looked startled. “Ah, a new addition to our happy little group?”
Nothing like stating the obvious. I stood up and handed him the note from Atonia. “Ms. Babineaux said I could join you starting today.”
“Who?” he asked.
“My social worker. She’ll send over the rest of the paperwork later.”
He studied Atonia’s scrawl for a moment with a frown then he shrugged. “Okay, well then, I’m Charles, the facilitator of this group. Welcome, Josephine.”
“Josie,” I corrected him.
When I sat down the creepy peeper guy leaned way too close. He stared at me intensely as if he thought he could hypnotize me. “That’s a very sexy name, Yosie,” he said. There was something so dorky about that guy. Maybe it was the haircut, a little too long in back and frizzy in the front. Or his clothes, a short satiny jacket with big shoulders over a paisley shirt, as if he’d stepped out of one of those bad 1980s movies Aunt JoJo loved so much. Or maybe it was his voice, annoying and nasally with a weird accent I couldn’t place. Russian or Slavic or something.
“A) it’s Josie,” I said, leveling my gaze at him. “With a
J
.”
“That’s what I said,” he told me with his eyebrow cocked again. “Yosie.” He locked eyes with me and seemed to anticipate something, like he was waiting for me to swoon.
But I was far from swooning. “And b),” I said, “ew.”
He turned away sheepishly and I heard someone snicker from across the room.
“Okay,” the therapist said. “Let’s jump right in. How’s the week been? Who wants to start?”
The dreadlock guy
These kids were probably real delinquents, although they looked harmless enough. But you could never tell. Sometimes the most ordinary looking people end up being the sickest. Look at Kevin. Everyone thought he was such an all-around good guy, Mr. Basketball, Tennis Captain, Class VP, leader of the young men’s prayer circle by day. But by night, he was a total jerk. I knew for a fact that he and his friends would buy beer, shoplift snacks from a 7-Eleven, score some weed, and break in to empty houses to party, then they’d drive around harassing people or he’d end up at Madison’s house while I was home studying or making pep rally signs like a blinded fool. So maybe the so-called “bad kids” were just the ones who got caught.
My plan was to slip into the room, take a seat in theback, and listen like a journalist. Maybe I would even take notes and write about my experience on my blog. No matter what, I was going to keep my head down and do my best to make sure no one would notice me. Except that when I got inside I saw that a) the chairs were arranged in a circle and b) the only one not occupied was at the opposite end of the room and c) that chair was beside the creepy peeper guy who looked inside my car. Great. Of course, since I was the new girl, everybody stopped what they were doing and stared at me. I felt like a bunny hopping through a fox’s den. I walked quickly with my head down, hoping they’d lose interest in me if I appeared uninteresting.
When I got to the open seat, the creepy peeper looked up at me, raised an eyebrow, and flashed me a cheesy grin. I rolled my eyes at him and plopped down in the seat.
The last person through the door was clearly the therapist. He was probably my dad’s age with a full beard and short sandy gray hair. He wore pressed plaid pants and Hush Puppies shoes that were almost silent on the linoleum. He glanced around the circle, nodding to each person until he got to me and looked startled. “Ah, a new addition to our happy little group?”
Nothing like stating the obvious. I stood up and handed him the note from Atonia. “Ms. Babineaux said I could join you starting today.”
“Who?” he asked.
“My social worker. She’ll send over the rest of the paperwork later.”
He studied Atonia’s scrawl for a moment with a frown then he shrugged. “Okay, well then, I’m Charles, the facilitator of this group. Welcome, Josephine.”
“Josie,” I corrected him.
When I sat down the creepy peeper guy leaned way too close. He stared at me intensely as if he thought he could hypnotize me. “That’s a very sexy name, Yosie,” he said. There was something so dorky about that guy. Maybe it was the haircut, a little too long in back and frizzy in the front. Or his clothes, a short satiny jacket with big shoulders over a paisley shirt, as if he’d stepped out of one of those bad 1980s movies Aunt JoJo loved so much. Or maybe it was his voice, annoying and nasally with a weird accent I couldn’t place. Russian or Slavic or something.
“A) it’s Josie,” I said, leveling my gaze at him. “With a
J
.”
“That’s what I said,” he told me with his eyebrow cocked again. “Yosie.” He locked eyes with me and seemed to anticipate something, like he was waiting for me to swoon.
But I was far from swooning. “And b),” I said, “ew.”
He turned away sheepishly and I heard someone snicker from across the room.
“Okay,” the therapist said. “Let’s jump right in. How’s the week been? Who wants to start?”
The dreadlock guy
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