She Feels Self-Conscious about Her Teeth by Meghan Phillips

She Feels Self-Conscious about Her Teeth

Dracula’s daughter has a crush on a boy in her algebra class. His name is Nathan. He sits two seats in front of her and one row over. She has a perfect view of the scruffy line where his hair meets his neck, the bright vein that pulses behind his left ear.

Dracula’s daughter has never spoken to Nathan. Once, she dropped her pencil during class. It rolled down the aisle, stopped next to Nathan’s foot. He picked it up and reached back toward her. Here. You dropped this. She nodded, eyes focused on the blue veins that lined his arm like notebook paper. She smiled a close-mouthed smile.

Dracula’s daughter does not have a mother. There is no Mrs. Dracula. Her father comes to parent-teacher conferences and takes her to buy new school clothes each August, but he is not easy to talk to. Too serious, too silent. Dracula’s daughter doesn’t really have any friends at school to talk to because — like father, like daughter — she too is serious and silent. She has no one to talk to about boys. To teach her about heartache. To help style her long dark hair.

Dracula’s daughter writes Nathan’s name on the pulse points of her wrists, on the silk lining of her coffin. She writes his name on the night air using echolocation and hopes that somehow he’ll find her.




Meghan Phillips is the fiction editor for Third Point Press and an associate editor for SmokeLong Quarterly. She lives in Lancaster, PA. You can find her on Twitter @mcarphil.


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