The next encounter between Lisa and Vladimir took place a few minutes before the start of classes the next day. Bart came along for the ride, his initial reluctance overcome by Lisa's promise to give him her cupcake at lunch.

"Hi, Vladimir," said Lisa coyly. "Or do you prefer to be called Vlad?"

The pale boy with the upright hair showed little emotion. "Call me Vladimir, please," he replied. "The name Vlad carries with it much negative baggage."

"Okay, Vladimir," said Lisa, her heart wobbling. "Listen, Bart and I think it would be wonderful if we could, er…"

"What my sister means to say," Bart interjected, "is that she's unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you."

"Am not!" Lisa protested.

Vladimir eyed the pair curiously. "I find your interplay amusing," he remarked. "It is almost enough to inspire laughter."

Lisa grinned sheepishly. "What I'm really trying to say is, we'd like to meet your parents, if that's not a problem."

She waited, not daring to breathe, as the boy stared at her and she stared back. It seemed to her that his pupils were sinking back into his head, becoming ever more distant. Am I being too forward? she wondered.

Finally, Vladimir cleared his throat. "That is a problem," he stated, "for, you see, I have no parents."

Lisa allowed her tense body to relax. "Oh, you're an orphan," she said solicitously. "How awful for you."

"It is awful, yes," said Vladimir, his tone suggesting no sadness at all. "I was very young when they died."

"No parents, huh?" said Bart. "Sounds like a nice gig."

"Who do you live with, then?" Lisa inquired of the lad.

"My sister, Angelina," he answered.

"How old is your sister?"

"Umm, twelve," said Vladimir with uncertainty. "No, thirteen. Yes, she is thirteen years of age."

Maybe she just had a birthday, thought Lisa.

"I will call my sister," Vladimir offered. "Perhaps she will invite you to visit our home."

"Gosh, thanks," said Lisa, as the boy strutted away towards Miss Hoover's room.

"See ya, Vlad," said Bart, waving.

Lisa, putting a hand next to her mouth, whispered harshly, "He doesn't want you to call him Vlad."

Bart shrugged. "What's wrong with Vlad? It's short for Vladimir, right? Do I go around telling people to call me Bartholomew?"

"You know, don't you," said Lisa ominously, "that Vlad is Dracula's first name?"

"No kidding," said Bart. "I always thought it was Count."

Shortly after school let out, Marge transported Bart and Lisa in the family sedan to the apartment complex where Vlad lived with his sister, Angelina. "Have a good time with your new friend, kids," she said warmly. "And remember, if he offers you any alcohol, drugs, or junk bonds, don't accept."

"He's not my friend, Mom," said Bart. "That kiss didn't mean a thing."

Lisa, having chosen to wear her pink Sunday dress and chapeau, and Bart, clad in his usual shorts-and-red-shirt combo, made their way into the building and rode the elevator to the thirteenth floor. The way to the Estragon residence took them through a featureless corridor with a decaying carpet and a heavy odor of cigarette smoke. "Yeesh, what a dive," commented Lisa. "I wouldn't feel safe living here, even if I was thirteen."

Loud rap music blared through a doorway as they walked quickly past. Upon reaching apartment 1313, Lisa stepped forward boldly and pressed the doorbell button. A series of chimes followed, rendering a dirge-like melody.

"Hmm," mused Lisa. "That sounds familiar."

"It sure does," said Bart nervously. "It's the theme song to that show with the creepy family that lives in a big house with a zombie. The Osbournes."

"No, that's not it," said Lisa. "It's the Dies Irae, a medieval hymn that made up part of the Requiem Mass. The same melody has been used in many works of classical music, including the Symphonie Fantastique of Berlioz, the Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini by…"

"Shut up, Lisa's brain," said Bart flatly.

An instant later the door swung open, revealing a tall, rather thin preteen girl with cascading red locks. She wore a paisley blouse and skirt, her sandal-clad feet displayed polished toenails that matched her hair, and her skin was every bit as pallid as Vladimir's.

Her lips curved up into a smile. "Come in, Lisa, Bart," she welcomed them.

To be continued