Vampire Island by Adele Griffin

Old World speeds. But Hudson decided to keep these developments to himself.
    “Don’t know what’s gotten into these kids,” remarked Mr. Schnur as he watched a fourth-grader scoop gum he wasn’t supposed to be chewing from where he’d spit it in the recycling bin, then furtively place it in the regular trash. “I must say it’s a pleasant surprise.”
    “My sister kind of jump-started them into it,” Hudson confessed, “with scare tactics.”
    The janitor rasped a laugh. “Good. Whatever it takes.”
    It wasn’t until later that week that Hudson fully comprehended the sacrifice of Protectorship.
    Thursday was Valentine’s Day, a day of great joy for P.S. 42. The fourth grade’s bank of cubbies was stocked with cards and flowers and cellophane packets containing heart-shaped chocolates or flavored sugar candies.
    Hudson prowled over to his cubby. As the handsomest boy in the class, his candy and chocolate haul was always vast and spectacular. So what if he hated candy and regifted it all to Duane? What mattered was that today was his special day, where he was singled out for being exceptionally gorgeous.
    Pillowcase in hand, he peered into his cubby. Looked again. Looked harder. Surely there was some mistake. His cubby was dark and empty as a yewn. Whistling, Hudson strutted over to his desk and opened it. He blinked.
    Nothing. No flowers. No candy.
    Also, some of his eco-flyers had been returned to him.
    Then he saw it. Taped inside the desktop, on the back of his eco-tips, a note.
    Dear Hudson,
    You used to be my special choice,
Now I don’t like to hear your voice.
You are my anti-valentine—
It stinks to get a litter fine.
    From Your Number One Anti-valentine,
“Freckled Redhead Girl”
    Jolted, Hudson crumpled the paper into a ball. He marched to the front of the room to deposit this horrible crime of a valentine into the trash. As he headed back down the aisle, he glowered at the freckled redhead girl. She was meaner than she looked, that heartless redhead girl. She wasn’t even paying attention to him. She only had eyes for…uh-oh. This was worse than the empty cubby. Worse than an anti-valentine. Hudson could hardly watch, but there was no denying who was burying his nose into the ruffled petals of a pink carnation. That should have been Hudson’s carnation.
    “Bethany Finn,” said Hudson as her name burst unexpectedly through his head. “Why did you give my Valentine’s carnation to…that lunkhead?”
    The lunk looked hurt. “We’ve been in school together since kindergarten, Hudson. Don’t you even know my name?”
    Hudson could not answer, because he did not.
    “Hudson, get a clue,” said Bethany. “Cute isn’t everything. You’re the pits.”
    The pits ? What did she mean? From the pits of fruits grew all new delicious fruit, but Hudson had a feeling that Bethany Finn had meant pit as in the end-thing you spit out. Because that was just exactly how he felt—spit out of Mr. Apple’s fourth grade.
    Spit out and heading home at the end of the lonely day, Hudson ran into his mother’s dog pack. The half dozen small dogs (his father exercised the larger breeds) were tied to a bike stand outside a Park Avenue apartment building. Hudson whistled hello. Dogs barked greetings.
    At least not everyone was shunning him.
    Sherlock was an old basset hound whom Hudson’s mother had been walking for years. He was the first pure animal who had befriended Hudson in the New World. This afternoon, as always, slobber dribbled in strings from his jowls. Hudson crouched and used his shirtsleeve to wipe it up.
    “How’s it going, Sherlock?”
    “Looking forward to warmer months and packing away this ugly dog sweater.” Sherlock snuffled. “Give a dog a scratch between the shoulders?”
    Hudson scratched. “Where’s Mom?”
    “She’s dropping off Scrumptilicious,” yapped Daisy, the one-eyed pug.
    “Fifty-fourth floor,” yipped Chico, a terrier mix. “They’re probably still in the