Mean Ghouls (3 page)

There was a crowd in the main hallway.

“Uhhhh-uhhhh.” The kids passing from room to room sounded like a moaning symphony.

“Is it always like this?” Megan asked Sam, shouting above the racket.

“Always,” Sam replied in a loud voice. “You'll get used to it.” Just then, Sam let out a huge “Uhhhh.”

“If you can't beat them,” Megan said with a laugh, “join them.”

As they worked their way through the crowd, Megan saw a girl drop a piece of paper. The girl didn't notice. She kept on walking, the frills of her fancy blue dress swishing as she continued down the hallway.

“Hey, wait!” Megan called out. “You dropped your —”

The hallway was so packed and the groaning so loud, the girl couldn't possibly hear her. “No worries,” Megan said to herself as she bent to get the paper. “I'll get it.” By the time she stood up and looked around, the girl was gone.

“What's that?” Sam asked, eyeing the page in Megan's hand.

“I don't know,” Megan said. She looked down to see loopy handwriting on yellowed stationery that was crinkled at the edges as if it had been read over and over again. “It's a letter from someone's mom,” she reported to Sam. “I'm sure whoever it belongs to would want it back. E-mail is fine, but I love getting real mail.”

“Tell me who it's to,” Sam said. “It'll be easy to return. I know everyone.”

Megan was careful not to read the letter — that would be rude. She only checked the beginning and the ending.
“‘Dear Gertrude.'”
And
“‘Love, Mom.'”

“Who's Gertrude?” Sam asked.

“I thought you knew everyone,” Megan countered with a wink.

Sam shrugged. “So did I.”

“I got this one covered,” Megan said. “I saw who dropped it.” Megan held the page carefully so she wouldn't add any more creases.

As they reached the classroom, three girls huddled in front of the door, whispering to one another.

The girl who dropped the letter was Asian with short dark hair cut in a bob. Her oversize cobalt blue prom dress might have been nice if someone hadn't run over it repeatedly with a car. There was an obvious tire track down the back, mud splatters covered the satin skirt, and deep tears ran across the frilly front. She also had an oozing neck wound, which she attempted to cover with a silk floral scarf.

Megan rushed forward. “Gertrude?” The girl didn't turn around, so Megan tapped her on the shoulder and shouted over the moans echoing through the hall. “Gertrude?”

A few kids nearby quieted down and stared at Megan with wide eyes.

The girl turned to face Megan. Her friends stood beside her, no longer in a tight circle, but in an imposing line, like a wall.

“You're Gertrude, right?” Megan held out the letter.

“No.” She looked at the letter, but didn't reach out to take it.

“But, I —” Megan was confused. She'd seen this girl drop it. Her memory seemed fine. She felt one hundred percent certain she had the right person.

“She
said
that's not her name.” A blond, super-thin girl with skin so white it was see-through stepped forward.

“But —”

“It's not her name!” The veins in this girl's arms popped red and blue as she put her hands on her hips.

Megan looked at the letter. “So, are you Gertrude?” she asked.

Some of the kids in the hallway began to snicker. Megan could hear the name “Gertrude” whispered over and over as if it was the funniest thing anyone had ever heard.

“I'm Brooke,” the pale girl said. “And you're making a big mistake.”

“Oh.” Megan squinted her eyes at the third girl.

“Don't even think about it.” She pushed her palm in Megan's face like a stop sign. “I'm Betsy.” Betsy had caramel-colored skin, and was pretty enough to be a model. In fact, she reminded Megan of a very
popular, gorgeous pop star from Mexico. Unfortunately, Betsy's light brown hair was thinning and her eyes were all white, with no pupils. She'd have a hard time getting a runway job looking like that.

Turning back to the first girl, Megan said, “Then it
must
be yours. I saw you drop your letter, Gertrude. Don't you want it back?”

“I'm Brenda,” she sneered.

Brooke, Brenda, Betsy — these were the Bs who lived next door to her and Happy. Sam had warned her to stay away, so she pulled back the letter. If Gertrude wanted to call herself Brenda, who was she to argue? “Okay, then, sorry to have interrupted you. I'll just take this to Mr. Jones and leave it —”

Brenda's hand shot out and snagged the letter from Megan. She ripped it away so forcefully that a tiny piece of the corner tore off. Opening her palm, Brenda waited for Megan to hand over the torn shred. Then she carefully tucked the letter into her binder.

Jeers and cheers of “Gertrude, Gertrude, Gertude” filled the hallway.

Brenda spun around, scanning the students, fire in her eyes. “If anyone ever, ever calls me that … they
will be very sorry.” She glared at Megan. “My name is
Brenda
.”

Brenda gathered her friends close and the three of them turned and stormed into the math classroom. The door slammed shut, leaving Sam and Megan in the hallway.

“Wow,” Sam said. “Your first day at school and you've already annoyed the Mean Ghouls. Good work.” Sam opened the door to let Megan inside the room. “Most people take a lot longer to get their attention.”

“I thought I was doing a good thing,” Megan said, feeling baffled by what had just happened. “And what's with the name Mean Ghouls? I thought they called themselves the Zom-Bs.” She felt sure that if Zach were here, he'd give Sam and Megan a long lecture on the intricate differences between ghouls and zombies.

“I call them Mean Ghouls because that's what they are. They dubbed themselves the Zom-Bs when they realized that all of their names start with a
B
.” Sam showed Megan where to sit and plopped into the desk next to her. “Brenda must have picked a new first name when she came to ZA.” He
paused before saying, “Zom-G just doesn't have the same ring.”

“Yikes.” Megan was glad that she was with Sam at the front of the room, while the Mean Ghouls sat in the last row. She glanced over her shoulder and was met by three Ghouls casting nasty looks at her.

She quickly looked away.

“We still on for lunch?” Happy asked Megan as she sat down at the desk on Megan's other side. Happy must not have heard what had happened out in the hallway … yet. She set out her ZA notebook and opened to a blank page.

“Definitely,” Megan replied. If Happy hadn't heard about the “incident” by lunch, Megan would fill her in. “So, what are we working on?” she asked. It was strange joining a class that had already started. “Algebra? Geometry?”

Happy flipped back through her pages. “Hmm, I can't really remember.” She squished up her face and pressed her black lips together. “Something with numbers,” she said. “Does it really matter?”

“I suppose not,” Megan replied.

“Let us begin.” Mr. Hornsby, the math teacher, picked up a piece of chalk. He had a huge gash in his head that revealed his brains. Megan was surprised
that brains actually did look like the spaghetti that Zach had made for her last breakfast at home. A pink slime coated with gray, thick linking twists. Disgusting! Each time Megan looked at him, her stomach flipped over. Staring at her desk, she fiddled with her pen and doodled in her notebook — anything to avoid looking up.

“Please pass out the textbooks,” Mr. Hornsby told Brenda.

“I can't,” Brenda replied. “I don't know where they are.”

Nurse Karen hadn't been kidding about zombitus causing memory loss. But it seemed random, like some stuff was easier to remember than other stuff. Brenda recognized the letter from her mom and her real name, but didn't have a clue where the math books were kept.

Megan's own brain felt foggy, but so far she hadn't forgotten anything. At least, she didn't think she had.

Mr. Hornsby checked his own red Zombie Academy notebook, then sent Brenda to the cabinet in the back of the room.

Brenda took her time delivering books around the room. When she got to Sam, she tossed a book
onto his desk at just the right angle for it to slip over the side and onto the floor.

“Oops,” she said with a snicker.

Then she turned to Megan, who held out her hands. But Brenda hadn't forgotten
everything
. She flung a book at Megan's head and sneered, “Welcome to Zombie Academy, New Girl.”

Megan's soccer reflexes kicked in just in time. She ducked, then popped under the heavy text, bobbling it on top of her head like a soccer ball. With a little bounce, she heaved it up and caught it in her hands.

“Thanks,” Megan said with a wink.

“Uhhhh,” Brenda growled as she turned to the next desk.

“Mean Ghouls,” Megan said to Sam. It was about how they acted, not whether they ate brains. “I get it.”

“More than
mean
. Brenda just tried to crack your skull,” Happy told Megan.

“You're right!” Megan suddenly realized what Happy meant. Rachel had read on the zombitus website that zombie head wounds don't heal. If Megan hadn't been so quick, the corner of the heavy textbook would have given her a gaping, brain-revealing
wound. She looked at Mr. Hornsby's head and shuddered.

“Thank you, Brenda,” Mr. Hornsby said when all the books were passed out.

Megan guessed he hadn't noticed Brenda throwing the book, so she raised her hand to report it.

“Yes …” Mr. Hornsby checked his notebook, searching for her name. “Megan.”

Quickly glancing over her shoulder, Megan saw Brenda whisper something to Brooke and Betsy. They all giggled.

The scene felt way too familiar. It reminded her of the way Hailey Hansen and her friends acted back home.

Feeling like she'd already started enough trouble, Megan decided that she'd stay away from the Ghouls from now on, like Sam had suggested.

Megan lowered her hand. “Forget it,” she told Mr. Hornsby.

Which he immediately did.

With an “Uhhhh-uhhhh” groan of her own, Megan opened her book to chapter two.

 

When math was over, it was time for English. The class was taught by the teacher Megan had met at the nurse's office, the one with the knee-locked legs. Her name was Mrs. Yarrow and she leaned against the wall while she lectured the class. She was interesting, and a dramatic storyteller. Rachel would love her. Megan was preoccupied with thoughts of home until Mrs. Yarrow mentioned their new assignment five minutes before the end of class.

“A woman named Mary Shelley wrote the book
Frankenstein
in 1818. It's the story of a man who creates a monster. There are copies on my desk. Please take one and read chapters one through five for homework. When we meet on Wednesday, we will be discussing the question,
Is the Frankenstein monster a zombie
?”

The bell rang and Megan checked her schedule. She had PE next.

Sam showed her where the locker rooms were, and once they'd both changed, they headed out to the ball field. Megan soon realized that PE at Zombie Academy was anything but typical.

About half of the kids in the class couldn't bend their knees. A few had their arms stuck straight out
and couldn't lower them. She'd never seen so many bloody wounds, at least not
before
a game.

Taking a scrunchie out of her pocket, Megan tied back her mop of hair. She bent her knees to make sure they weren't stuck and jogged in place to warm up.

The coach was another fully transformed zombie.

“He played in the Olympics,” Sam told her.

“Cool.” Megan asked which year and sport.

“776 BCE,” Sam replied, pausing for Megan's jaw to drop. “He was a wrestler.”

“You have to be kidding.” Megan checked out the coach, who looked to be about thirty years old. He was bald, with patchy places on his arms where his bulging muscles stuck out through the skin. “I'm supposed to believe that he's more than twenty-five hundred years old?” Megan asked. “No way.” She shook her head.

“Zombies are immortal,” Sam reminded her. “He's the same age now as when he got the disease. Coach Ipthos was haunting Mount Olympus, scaring tourists, when Mr. Jones invited him to teach here.”

“This is all very strange,” Megan said, letting out a long breath.

“Come on. Follow me.” Using a hand-drawn map, Sam helped Megan dodge around several deep holes dug in the field.

Coach Ipthos divided the kids into teams and then — threw out soccer balls.

“Soccer!” Megan was excited.

“Kind of,” Sam said. “We call it shuffle ball.”

Megan and Sam were on opposite teams. He grinned, challenging her to show what she could do.

“If this is anything like soccer …” Megan muttered to herself, checking out the field. “He has no idea who he's up against.”

The game was similar with a few new rules.

No bending knees. Even if you could, bending was a penalty. That gave the players who couldn't bend a chance.

The deep holes in the field were traps. If you fell in, you were out. Coach would rescue the fallen players at halftime so they could rejoin the game.

The holes added a fun obstacle since five seconds after being rescued, most kids couldn't remember where the traps were and fell right back into them.

Megan wondered why Happy wasn't at PE, but when the whistle blew, she pushed that thought aside and went for the ball.

Turned out, Sam was as good a player as Megan. Maybe better, but she'd never tell him that!

As if the holes weren't enough, the Bs made the game even more difficult. They refused to get sweaty so they didn't play. But rather than waiting on the sidelines, the three of them stood in the center of the field, blocking the way for both teams.