​When a batch of magical, glow-in-the-dark toy vampire teeth summon a real-life blood-sucking fiend, a lonely goth girl and her misfit friends must figure out how to free the vampire from its curse before their entire world is inundated by a ravenous army of the undead.

As the bell rang for her first class, seventeen-year-old Lydia Dockerey checked her teeth in her locker mirror one last time. She’d spent the previous evening practicing all kinds of smiles—tight-lipped and mysterious, wide and toothy, a shy one with her head tilted just so, even a quick flash meant to look like she’d heard something funny—and this smile didn’t disappoint. If she didn’t know any better, even she might have believed she was happy.

The moment Lyda closed her locker door, the fleeting remnants of her smile faded, replaced by the same dour expression she wore to school every day. Eyes on the floor, one hand swiped her oversized black Misfits T-shirt for nonexistent bits of lint or flakes of dandruff while her other hand slid through the strap of her black backpack. She was about to head to her first class of the day when a voice stopped her.

“You going to a funeral or what?”

She turned, glaring up past the stainless-steel rod embedded in her left eyebrow. The voice belonged to her Chem 12 teacher, Mr. Johnsgaard, a man predisposed to making the most inane comments at the worst possible moments.

“Excuse me?”

“You know, all the black.” He swept his hands down his body, then nodded at her. “The boots, the leggings, the skirt, the shirt, the hair. Even your lipstick. I’m thinking it’s either a funeral, or maybe you’re planning to rob a bank after school. Should I be calling the cops?” Hands in his pockets, he grinned and waggled his eyebrows as he rose up and down on his toes, anticipating her response to his supposedly witty remark.

One eyebrow raised, she took in his blue golf shirt, tan chinos, and brown slip-on shoes. “Better a funeral than whatever Walmart bargain bin you just crawled out of.” Slipping her other arm through the strap of her backpack, Lydia turned to go.

“You know, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar,” he called after her.

“I’m not looking to catch flies, Mr. Johnsgaard,” she said over her shoulder. “I prefer to swat them. Speaking of flies, you may want to check yours.”

​She grinned as she turned back down the hall, certain he was doing a double take at his crotch. Only when she swept her tongue over her bare, newly straightened teeth did she remember why, for the first time in years, she was actually excited to be at school. The unfamiliar jolt of raw happiness startled her, and just like that, her smile vanished, like a candle snuffed out by a sudden draft. For some reason she couldn’t name, Lydia had always felt like joy was something that belonged to everyone else, not her.