I move to their dresses, with supershort hemlines, I might add. I stroke a purple one, velvet, not too tight. I take it off the rack. “Too bad that has to be burned, it’s almost cute.” The girl continues, apparently her only purpose in existence is harping on strange people in clothes stores. Alphonse emerges from the dressing room. “Oh, no, there are more of them?” she hisses, not even bothering to hide her disgust, her wrinkled little nose.

I shrug again, toss my black hair over my shoulder. My mom is Japanese-engineered, so I’m not blond like most of the vamps. I’m also incredibly short, thanks to Honda. The girls are laughing, and the aforementioned “employee” is taking shelter behind her desk. I swear, she thinks a firefight is about to go down in this freaking Macy’s.

Keep folding your lame socks, lady, nothing’s gonna happen. I know these brats are all talk- whisper really- and we’re leaving soon anyway. Pretty soon, I see her on the phone. Her nametag says her name is Amber. Amber’s scared.