BY ALY STANTON
In this world, it takes all kinds of kinds. McDonald’s is the place where at least one of every kind can be found on any given day. Grabbing a burger past 10 o’clock in the evening, you’re even more likely to see things that just don’t seem to happen when the sun is shining.
Abigail could be categorized as one of those things. What a nice, normal name.
I hate waiting in line. It’s always so awkward, standing there in silence, as if there isn’t another person within a couple feet of you. I leaned back against the counter, glancing to my left at a girl who seemed seriously pissed off by the soda fountain. The neon purple streaks in her otherwise ordinary mousy brown hair looked especially obnoxious under the fluorescents. She was thin with a black hoodie, jeans, and the kind of raccoon-chic makeup I usually associate with wannabe rebellious pre-teens. I considered staying quiet and still as I waited for my order to be handed to me, but instead found myself taking a step towards her and opening my mouth.
“These things are just the worst, aren’t they? Sometimes they spit out just syrup and other times it’s only the carbonation. Gross, huh?”
She glared at me. When I say glare, I mean the death-upon-you-and-everyone-you-know type facial expression. Which should have sent me in the other direction…it didn’t. Every once in a while I just like to screw with people, especially those who clearly have an attitude problem. I looked her right in the eye.
“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
She simply stared, her mouth hanging open slightly. She did, however, follow me as I took my tray and sat in a booth in the far corner by the window.
“What do you want?”
Surprisingly, she mumbled this. I was expecting a growl, a shriek, some sort of hostile reaction.
“I’m just curious why you seem so angry. What’s your name?”
I was surprised at my boldness. As much as I like chatting with people, even those I don’t know, this was a bit outside the norm. Even for me. But it was late. I was hungry. I was here, and she was the only one else around this time of night. More than that, I was curious now. Things that seem strange in the daylight often don’t when it’s dark outside.
Here she took a fry, dragging it through a pool of ketchup until every inch was dripping bright red sauce on the wrapper on her tray.
“Abigail. I’m pissy because my coven is upset with me.”
I furrowed my brow, trying to understand where she was going with this.
“So…you’re a witch? Wiccan? Something like that? I really don’t know the terminology, sorry.”
“No. I’m a vampire.”
I snorted, hoping Sprite wasn’t about to come out of my nose.
“Do you sparkle in the sunlight?”
Everybody loves a good Twilight joke, and I could only assume that’s where this was coming from. She looked to be about sixteen, the same age I was when I thought a fictitious vampire was the sexiest thing one could aspire to be.
The staring resumed. Which then escalated into the glaring that we know she is so adept at.
Then she bared her teeth, covered in pink and white brackets. I remember thinking about how I used to do the same thing when I had braces, choosing different colors for Halloween, Christmas, and Valentine’s Day. Was this her idea of a smile? Creepy.
As I was thinking about this, my eyes fixed on the gleaming metal reflecting that oh-so-flattering lighting, I heard a cat. Except it wasn’t a cat, it was Abigail.
The bitch actually hissed at me.
I’m not sure if she was kidding around, if she was seeking attention, if she truly went around tasting blood for kicks. I wasn’t curious anymore, and I couldn’t care less about trying to understand what her problem was.
All I know is I got the hell outta there, and fast.
That’s the last time I bond over a Big Mac.