I can't believe I rescued a vampire.

I'm climbing the steep pathway next to a creek that leads from the beach to the West Marin Heights campus while carrying my "rescuer" as far away from my neck as possible. If he hadn't been so badly injured, I would've left him on the beach. Even though his leg has regrown almost to his ankle, he still can't walk.

We're surrounded by stands of redwoods huddled in their tight family circles. Redwoods have to intermingle their ridiculously shallow roots and stay close, or one good gust of wind will knock them down. The older trees tower into the sky, morning light filtering through their limbs, while the saplings cling to their bases. All the circles have at least a few charcoaled tree stumps blanketed in moss, sprouting bouquets of ferns, each frond shaped like a mermaid's tail.

Leaves crunch under my bare feet, and the long grass scratches my ankles. I forgot to pack shoes. My mom would totally be on my case if she knew. I'm covered in goosebumps because all I'm wearing is a white sundress. I've never thought about how this dress is so thin and revealing, so right now, I feel underdressed. I actually wish I'd listened to my mom when she told me to pack my sister's old sweater. But of course, I didn't; it's a matter of principle. Parents are always trying to overdress their fingerlings when they go landside. Sometimes it feels like they use layers of clothing to coddle us when they can't be around to do it themselves.

Merfolk don't have a lot of human clothes. We pick up what we find on the beach. But now that I'm going to have a land-based existence, I'll have to figure out how to get more stuff to wear. Maybe I can ask a fairy!

"This is embarrassing," the vampire says. "I can't have you carry me into school. Just give me a little more of your blood."

Is he sniffing my arm? I should have my stake ready. But, oh, no! This is when I realize that I've left my backpack containing said stake on the beach. I could set him down and go back for my pack, but I doubt he can do much harm in this condition. Also, I'm already late enough for school. The sensible thing to do is go back for my bag later and let him live. For now.

I shake my head. "No can do, vampire. I have a strict no-drinking policy. My blood stays in its own circulatory system." I shift him to the other arm, and he groans in pain. He must be faking it though because he's already quirking his lip into that crooked smile of his. I will ignore him until he gets that straightened out. He isn't half as cute as he thinks he is—I'm almost certain. "Tell me where the infirmary is, and I'll drop you off as quietly as possible."

"I don't need an infirmary, mermaid. I need the commissary. Fresh blood will heal me quicker."

I shiver at the thought of eating in a cafeteria that serves blood. "Don't call me 'mermaid.'"

"Then don't call me 'vampire.'"

Guess even a bloodsucking murderer can make a valid point (or two of them.) "What should I call you?"

"Pierce. Pierce Knightguard."

It's almost eye-roll worthy. "Seriously?"

"What?" he says, sounding hurt.

"You're a vampire named Pierce?"

"So?"

"I mean ... it's not exactly subtle."

"You can't talk to me that way, even if you are cute and delicious."

I come to an abrupt halt and let Pierce Knightguard tumble from my arms. He lands with a thump on a bed of redwood needles.

"Oops. Sorry about that." Just like with sharks, I have to show dominance right away. If I let Pierce think of me as a healthy breakfast, I'm in trouble. I'm nobody's kelp smoothie, and that will be my mantra until I'm finished with this place.

"Hey." Pierce jumps up onto his good leg. "That hurt."

He folds his arms across his chest, which is totally exposed because I ripped apart his shirt earlier. Destroying it may be the one thing I've done right today. He balances on one leg as gracefully as a blue heron.

"Sorry," I tell him, mostly meaning it. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Actually, it might've been a good move on your part."

He gives me that crooked smile again. His dimples are so deep; he could hold a good-sized pebble in each one. Poseidon's beard, Pierce is handsome. Even missing an alarming chunk of a major body part, he makes Finn look like a rubber-lipped surfperch by comparison. But he shouldn't be grinning at me right now. This is serious.

"Why do you say that?"

"I mean ..." he says, furrowing his dark eyebrows into a V, his smile disappearing. "I mean, your blood tastes like ..." He licks his lips.

I put my hands on my hips. "Like what? A drug? Like vampire crack?"

"No! Why would you say something so horrible? No—you taste like the first rain on a cracking desert landscape."

My jaw falls open—a vampire poet.

He hops toward me. I take a step back, even though what I really want to do is throw myself into his arms and kiss him again. This time on purpose. He leans close to my neck, and my pulse thuds in my throat. He smiles. Can he sense my heart rate speeding up?

"Well ... thank you," I manage to croak. "That makes me feel better."

"Race you to school?" He hops backward and throws his head in the direction of the building on top of the hill, a thin line of gray smoke snaking from the chimney.

I laugh. "It's no fun racing the leg-impaired."

"Come on. Loser has to grant the winner a wish."

"I'm only one-eighth fairy. I'm not authorized to grant wishes."

Pierce's blue eyes darken. A rush of heat radiates across my neck. "Anyone can grant a wish, Waverly," he says.

This is kind of a sore spot for me. Why couldn't I have inherited the ability to grant wishes from my fairy ancestors instead of the whole hair sparking thing?

But ... hmmm. This has possibilities. I could wish for him to never come near me again. "You got it, vampire." I take off before I finish the sentence. Even though Pierce is a stunning, supernaturally fast (if usually two-legged) creature of the night, I'm not going to let him show me up. Though, I do feel a little guilty for not at least giving him a head start.

"It's Pierce!" he yells. I glance back over my shoulder and see him launch into the air. He buzzes past my head as he flies over me.

"You can fly?" I can't believe this jerk. I carried him, and the whole time he could have flown himself to class! Vampires suck—this one especially. "Don't you have to turn yourself into a bat first?" I yell after him.

I give up and stomp the rest of the way up the hill. When I reach the top, I hear the chattering and giggling that signifies a gathering of students. It's coming from the biggest building in sight, which lies across the meadowed school courtyard.

This is when I suddenly realize that Pierce called me Waverly.

But I never told him my name.