Authors: Daniel Waters
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Children's Books, #Juvenile Fiction, #Fantasy & Magic, #Children: Young Adult (Gr. 7-9), #Children's Books - Young Adult Fiction, #Friendship, #Young adult fiction, #Love & Romance, #Social Issues, #Mysteries & Detective Stories, #Emotions & Feelings, #Death, #Death & Dying, #All Ages, #Social Issues - Friendship, #Schools, #Monsters, #High schools, #Interpersonal relations, #Triangles (Interpersonal relations), #Zombies, #Prejudices, #Science Fiction; Fantasy; Magic, #Goth culture, #First person narratives
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when we went to see the Shadowy Organization last month."
Phoebe listened to Margi laugh and Colette pretend to laugh. She forced herself to smile, but she wasn't quick enough. Margi looped her metal-sheathed arm around her shoulders.
"Aw, what is it, Pheebes? Are you still upset about Tommy?"
"I am not upset about Tommy."
"Is it because he's leaving? Or because you still have feelings for him?"
"I am
not
upset about Tommy!"
"Okay, okay," Margi said, squeezing her tighter. "Jeez, sorry I mentioned it. Bite my head off."
"I didn't bite your head off," she said, knowing that she did. Margi was right on both accounts.
Margi looked at her, pink lips wrinkling. "Clearly, I have erred. There is obviously nothing bothering you, so let's just move on, shall we?"
"I'd appreciate it."
"Good."
"Because it isn't like it's my fault or anything," she said, but her hands were shaking in the frilly sleeves of her blouse.
"That's right. We all agree that it wasn't your fault. Don't we, C.B.?"
Colette was also wearing her hair spiked lately, but no matter how much product she and Margi put into it, the lank strands wouldn't stand up like they did on Margi's head. Margi's spikes swayed, Colette's gave a limp bounce.
"We ...agree."
"Good," Margi said. "See? We agree. What exactly are we agreeing on?"
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Phoebe blew the bangs out of her eyes with a huffy breath. "That it isn't my fault. Tommy leaving."
"Ah. No. No, that definitely isn't your fault. You breaking up with someone is not to say you are responsible for them going on a zombie vision quest."
"A zombie vision quest?" Phoebe said. "So you
do
think I'm responsible."
"Didn't I just say the opposite?" Margi looked out the window, then she asked, "Are you and Adam fighting?"
"Why? Just because I'm not sitting with him you think we're fighting? Am I such a terrible monster that you think I just go around picking fights with people?"
"You mean like you're doing now?" Margi said, poking her in the ribs as though trying to puncture Phoebe's cloud of gloom. "No. It's just when you turned away from him, he reached for you, like there was something else he wanted to say. But he was too slow, and you kept moving."
Phoebe looked at her friend. "He reached for me?"
"Yeah," Margi said, "like he was afraid you were upset or something. It's so hard to tell what he's thinking now, he just hasn't got the 'expression' thing or the 'inflection' thing down yet. What do you think he was doing, C.B.? Can you give us a little help with the zombie-to-English translation?"
Colette tried on a smile. "I think... he was ... going Romero."
Phoebe, being a great fan of
Night of the Living Dead
and all of George Romero's movies, couldn't help but smile even though she knew what was coming.
"You mean he was reaching for her brains?"
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"Yes," Colette said, "delicious ...brains." Margi giggled.
"There's a flaw in your thinking, C.B. Even Adam is smart enough to know Pheebes doesn't have any." The Weird Sisters cackled.
"You guys really need to take this act on the road," Phoebe said, but was suddenly serious again. Margi and Colette caught the vibe as well.
"Like Tommy," she continued, leaning her head against Margi's shoulder.
"Aw, Pheebes," Margi said, kissing the top of her head. "He's coming back, right? This is probably just something he needs to get out of his system."
"I don't know." She thought about how solid he'd felt leaning against her. Tommy wasn't one to change his mind easily.
"I think so," Margi said. "I heard him talking to the Hunters. It sounded to me like he was coming back."
"What was he talking to the Hunters for?" Phoebe asked, sitting up.
"I was working a shift in the office and they were talking to him about the Web site, and how important it was for it to continue. They said that the foundation would pay for the site and for the hosting. Tommy said that was cool, but that he wouldn't let Skip Slydell put banner ads for Z on it."
"You're kidding."
"No, really," Margi said, "they said Slydell wanted to do ..." "No," Phoebe said, "I meant about the foundation funding it." "For real. They said that the site was critically important
127
for the survival and advancement of zombie rights and culture. I remember because I thought it was weird that they said 'survival.'" She thought for a moment. "They didn't say 'zombie,' though. 'Differently biotic.'"
"That is really weird. What did Tommy say?"
"He said he would still write for the blog, but that he couldn't manage the site anymore. He said if the Hunters could ensure that the people he chose to run the site for him got paid for their work, he would consider letting them fund it."
"Wow," Phoebe said. She had so much going through her head just then it was difficult to focus on one thing. She wasn't so certain it was a great idea to give the foundation or Slydellco access to mysocalledundeath.
"I know," Margi said. "Pretty cool, huh? I guess that would make Tommy the first zombie entrepreneur."
Colette shrugged one shoulder as though to say "imagine that."
"He said he was coming back, though?" Phoebe said.
Margi gave her a quizzical look. "Not exactly. Not in so many words. It was sort of implied."
The bus rolled to a stop at the curb, and the students, some of the living as sluggish as the dead with morning fatigue, began piling out of the bus. Phoebe watched Adam rise from his seat and shoulder his way into the line. He didn't look back. She slipped past Margi with the intention of talking to him before he entered the school. She caught up to him on the second short flight of steps.
"Hi," she said, taking his arm.
"Hell-o," he replied without breaking ponderous stride.
128
"I haven't seen you in
forever'!"
she said. "I missed you." She was pleased to see the corner of his mouth twitch upward. "Phoebe," he said.
"I know," she said, "I'm clingy. I'm hovering. I'm altogether a huge pain in the butt."
"No," he said, almost managing to shake his head. He was walking, talking, and trying to shake his head at the same time. This was good, she thought. This was very very good.
"No?" she said, giving him a gentle nudge. "No? Don't tell me we're going back to the old days where you were afraid your friends were going to see you with me. I don't know if I could take that."
They reached the doors, and she sprang ahead to open them for him.
"No," he said.
"Thank goodness. You just want a little space, is that it?"
He stopped, and Phoebe could see a whole flock of emotions lying below the dead skin of his face. He opened his mouth and she thought he was going to say yes, and then she thought he was going to say no, and then she had no idea what he was going to say at all. He reached out a hand as heavy as a ten-pound weight, and clamped it on her shoulder.
"Phoebe," he said, the effort appearing painful. "Live."
He released her, staring down with glassy, lifeless eyes.
She thought that was his way of pushing her away, but then he held out the same hand for her to take. She walked him to his locker, holding his hand on the dial of the combination lock so he could feel the movement of her fingers.
129
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
WANTED TO TEACH
her, not Joe teach her.
"Let up on the brakes, kid," said the STD not the STD Joe. "You don't want to hit the brakes when you're going into a curve. If anything you want to give it a little gas."
"I feel like I'm going too fast, Mr. Garrity," said Phoebe. Phoebe's eyes in the rearview mirror look scared but excited too. "Nah. You're fine."
"Phoebe live," said to Phoebe not sure Phoebe understood. Don't understand. Joe the stepfather formerly known as the STD teaching Phoebe to drive now that's living. Now that's entertainment.
"I can't believe my dad is letting me do this," said Phoebe.
Joe laughed. "I just told him I had plenty of cars, so it wouldn't matter if you crashed one. And if you did I could fix it."
130
"He's so uptight when he tries to teach me," she said.
"Stop sign coming up. That's it. Ease on it. Good."
Good. Phoebe driving good, Joe acting good. Franken-Adam moving not good not good but better. Better. Turtle. Turtle not snail.
Dojo ahead. Phoebe parks like FrankenAdam gets into the car; slow, sloppy, and with sixteen-point turn. Gives up, parks at entrance.
"Thank you, Mr. Garrity," said Phoebe, handing keys. "Least I could do," said Joe. Said Joe warmly. Actual warmth. Joe human. Adam not. "Let...me ...out,"
Phoebe laughed. Phoebe laughed like music, Phoebe live. Live.
"Come on, Adam," Phoebe said, "I wasn't that bad." Speak. Speak.
"Yeah, son," said Joe. So weird name son. "She's doing all right." Speak.
"Life ...flashed."
Phoebe laughs hugs FrankenAdam, Phoebe lives. Her black hair perfect shiny black hair underneath my nose lungs breathe breathe breathe maybe flowers. Maybe. Miss flowers.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Adam," said Phoebe, laughing. "That helps."
"See you in forty-five," said Joe, waves. Phoebe waves.
Wave.
Walking. Walking with hitch but walking. Phoebe skips
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ahead, holds door. Hold door, one week. No, one day. Tomorrow at school.
"Adam," said Master Griffin, bowing. Bald head shining, beacon. Bow. Bowing.
"And you are Phoebe Kendall."
"Yes," said Phoebe, looking at walls. Photos of Griffin in chi, in tournament, in Gulf. Had hair. Photos of Griffin kicking ass.
"Would you like to work out today as well, Phoebe?" said Master Griffin. "First trial session is free." Smiles. "I'm not really dressed for it."
Phoebe in black. Boots and all. Phoebe is back in skirts and ruffles and frilly lacey cuffs. Filled with life.
"You can borrow a ghi," Master Griffin said, "no shoes required."
"Maybe next time," said Phoebe. "I'll just watch if that's okay."
Griffin nods, light reflecting off bald dome head. Turns, bows to the dojo. Walk. Bow.
"We will do the basic forms again, Adam," said Master Griffin. "Please do not be shy in front of your audience."
"No."
"Maintain your focus," he said. Nod.
Move. Moving.
See Phoebe, in mirror. Phoebe happy and sad. Both. Moving.
Phoebe loves. Love Phoebe.
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"That's it, Adam," Griffin says, "Focus. Try to feel your body as it moves."
Phoebe loves, but doesn't
love.
Loves Tommy? "Focus."
Live, Phoebe. Forget. Just forget the dead and live. Forget, Phoebe. Phoebe, forget. "Again."
Forget Phoebe. Try.
"Ha ...iiiiii."
"Good," said Master Griffin.
133
CHAPTER NINETEEN
"YOU'RE DOING
really well," Phoebe told Adam. He walked to the refrigerator, opened it, then withdrew the creamer, which he set on the table in front of her. "I can't believe how mobile you're getting. It was so much fun watching you."
He half smiled at her, then slumped into his chair with enough force to bump into the table and spill her coffee, sending beige liquid onto the plastic tablecloth.
"Oops," she said, and he smiled instead of getting frustrated like he would have a few weeks ago.
He'd made the coffee almost entirely himself, needing her help only to spoon enough of the grounds into the filter. He poured the water and added the sugar after getting her a mug from the cabinet.
"It's good," she said after taking a sip. "Master Griffin has really helped you."
134
Adam nodded. "More ...focused ...already"
"He's an interesting guy," she said, taking another sip. The coffee was actually a little weak because Adam's hand shook when he poured the water. She set her cup down and got up. "How long was he in the military?"
"Five ...years," Adam said. She went over and stood behind him. "He was ...wounded."
She started kneading his shoulders, which felt like tractor tires beneath her hands. "I didn't know that."
"Just...told me," he said. "Shot... in the ...leg."
"You'd never know," she said. His shoulders weren't budging, so she ran her fingers through his hair. It was dry and crackled under her fingertips. She scratched the back of his neck with her fingernails.
"He told ...me ...because ...thought ...would help ...rehabilitation."
She leaned in close, so close that her mouth was near his ear.
"Something's helping," she whispered.
There was no reaction. She hadn't really expected one, but she'd been hoping.
Time to test Tommy's theory, she thought, and kissed Adam on the neck, just below and behind his ear, where a pulse would beat if he were alive.
It was like kissing a rock, she thought. Then she thought about how much Adam loved her. He loved her so much that he suffered in silence while she was dating Tommy.
He loved her so much that he
died
for her.