Page 81 of My Roommate Is a Vampire

“Cassie,” Amelia said. Her tone was bright, and she smiled at me—but even over the din of the party I was reminded of how condescending she used to be whenever she deigned to speak with me back in high school. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

“It’s been a long time,” I said. I would make an effort tonight for Sam, I decided. “How have you been?”

Amelia shook her blond head and sighed, then took a sip of her white wine before setting the glass back down on the coffee table.

“Busy,” she said. “Not as busy as I’ll be in the spring, but busier than I want to be.”

I tried to think of a time when Ameliawasn’tso busy with her accounting practice that she was utterly miserable. My mind drew a blank.

“That sucks,” I said, meaning it.

Amelia shrugged. “It is what it is, I guess. It’s what I signed up for when I joined the firm. But enough about me,” she said. “Sam says you’ve been really throwing yourself into your art again.”

I nodded, too proud of what I’d been doing lately—and too cognizant of the fact that someone on the River North Gallery committee was sitting beside Amelia—to feel self-conscious.

“Yeah,” I said. “I have been. In fact—”

I was cut off from finishing my sentence by Sam—who was now rushing over to Amelia’s side with a petrified-looking Frederick in tow.

“Amelia,” he said, laughing. “You havegotto talk with Cassie’s new roommate.”

Sam’s words distracted me completely from my anxiety over talking with Amelia and David, catching my attention as effectively as a record scratch in a quiet room. Alarmed, I turned to look at Frederick, whose wrist was in Sam’s iron grip.

He was staring, wild-eyed, down at his shoes.

Before I could ask what was going on, Sam turned to me and said, delighted, “You never told me Frederick was such a big Taylor Swift fan.”

I choked on my sip of wine.

“I’m sorry,” I said, once I recovered. “But... Taylor Swift?”

Frederick shuffled his feet awkwardly. “I... might have mentioned a few things I knew about Taylor Swift to some people in the kitchen.”

“Afewthings?” Sam laughed again and shook his head. “Don’t be so modest. Your knowledge of her1989era is encyclopedic.”

I had to stifle a laugh in my palm. “Is that so?”

“It is!” Sam gushed. “Like I was saying, Frederick—you need to talk with Amelia. She loves meeting other Swifties, especially when they’re people who don’t fit the usual stereotypes.”

“Oh, yes,” Amelia said. She was beaming now. I’d never heard her sound so delighted. “When people outside the expected demographics are really into her, too, it just proves how broad Taylor’s appeal is, and how deep her talent.”

I stared at her. It hadn’t occurred to me that an accountant couldhaveopinions on music. Though perhaps that was just me being overly judgmental. “You’re a Taylor Swift fan?”

Amelia shrugged. “I mean, what’s not to like?”

“I agree,” Frederick said, with an enthusiasm that stunned me. “Taylor Swift, who was born in West Reading, Pennsylvania, in 1989, has won eleven Grammy Awards from the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences.”

Amelia stood up and, still grinning, smoothed her hands over her wrinkle-free skirt. “Let’s go into the kitchen and fangirl together,” she proposed to Frederick.

Frederick’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon, but...” He glanced at me. “Fangirl?”

I leaned over a little and murmured, “It just means to get excited about something.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll get another glass of Malbec,” Sam suggested. “I won’t beable to contribute much to the conversation, but I always enjoy watching Amelia in her element.”

Frederick cast a helpless glance at me over his shoulder as Amelia guided him back into the kitchen.

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