At First Bite Read Online Free

and carefully. “Ashlee, I’m at the office on a Sunday. Fashion Week is right around the corner, and things are crazy. Now, don’t tell me you went to the beach or wore a bikini or just slapped on some SPF 15 or something?”
    Now it’s my turn to be silent. “All three,” I finally whisper.
    “Ashlee!” I hear her rings knock as she slaps her hand on her desk. “You’re a vampire now. Our skin is very, very sensitive to sunlight, unless we’re in bat form. In colder climates, it’s not a problem. But you have to promise me that you will wear SPF 75 if you go to the beach. And it’s best to wear longsleeves and pants if you’ll be outside for a while. Oh, and sun hats.”
    “Sun hats?” I feel like crying again.
    “Yes,” Arabella says. “You should know this, Ashlee. It’s in the Handbook.”
    Right. Arabella gave me the Transylvanian Vampire’s Handbook back in November. I skimmed it, but it was totally boring. Right now, it’s packed alongside my Sanga! cooler in my giant purple suitcase — the one Mom thought was suspiciously heavy this morning.
    “Anyway, I need to go,” Arabella is saying. “But remember, sweetie: SPF 75. Read the Handbook. And call me if you see anything —”
    “Suspicious. I know, I know.” I sigh, then tell Arabella good-bye and hang up.
    My stomach growls as I walk over to the suitcases that Mom must have brought up while I was out. I open my purple one —
ouch!
— and take out my Sanga! cooler. Once I’m finally sipping the sweet drink, I sink down onto the floor and rest my back against the wall. So much for my not being a vampire in LA.
    I glance inside the suitcase, ignoring the black leather cover of the Handbook. My eyes driftmournfully over some of my wonderful warm-weather outfits. The blue-and-white romper; the yellow dress with the green trim; the lavender tank top … All fabulous options for my first day at Santa Monica Academy.
    But not anymore.
    Reluctantly, I pick up my phone and call my mother. She answers on the first ring.
    “Hi, Mom,” I say, forcing the words out. “Are you at the drugstore yet? I think I’m going to need a sun hat….”

Chapter Three
    Bright and early the next morning, Dylan and I are standing in front of Santa Monica Academy.
    I’m wearing a long-sleeved gray T-shirt, jeans, sneakers, and sunglasses. The dreaded floppy blue sun hat Mom brought home yesterday covers my blond hair. To hide the redness on my face, I put on white pressed powder, which I fear has made me look like, well, a vampire.
    This is
so
not how I imagined starting over in California.
    “Let’s go inside!” Dylan says excitedly. Kids are streaming past us and into the school, laughing and talking as the sunlight pours down on them. I realize that they all know one another already, and butterflies fill my belly.
    “The same rules apply here,” I mutter to my brother, and he nods as we walk toward the shiny glass doors.
    Back in New York, our school was grades K through 12, which meant that Dylan and I were always in the same building (only in different sections). Santa Monica Academy is set up the same way. Fortunately, I came up with a set of rules years ago: Dylan and I ignore each other in the halls, and when asked if we’re related, deny it.
    Inside, we wordlessly part ways: Dylan heads left to the high school section, and I head right to the middle school. I sidestep a cluster of little kids trooping upstairs to the elementary section. Then I unzip my big patent-leather satchel, my hand brushing against my Sanga! mini-cooler. I remove the printout of my class schedule and confirm that first period is homeroom with Mr. Harker, in Room 105.
    I make my way past a bunch of guys hanging up orange pennants that read GO BEARS! My heightened vision allows me to easily make out the numbers on the doors: 103 … 104 … 105. Fighting down a fresh wave of nerves, I enter the big, airy classroom.
    The bell hasn’t rung yet, so kids are still standing