Mean Ghouls (4 page)

Sam said that Coach Ipthos liked adding another obstacle to the game so he never forced them to play.

When Megan got near, Brenda and Brooke each took turns trying to trip her. Betsy, it turned out, had a cleanliness obsession and wouldn't do anything that might get stains on her clothing. “If anyone oozes zombie goop on me, I'll kill them!” she shouted any time a player got too close.

Avoiding the Bs, Megan and Sam dueled it out near the sidelines. By the end of class, Megan's team had narrowly won, 3-2.

“That was fun!” Megan hurried down the field. She went to give Sam a high five, but he kept his hands behind his back.

She thought he was being a sore loser until he said, “Smacking is a bad idea. I'll lose a finger for sure.” Sam grinned and very carefully put his hand out for a loose shake instead. “Good game.”

Megan lightly touched his hand.

“Let's go.” Sam immediately closed his fingers around hers and held on. “This way.” He took out his map and led Megan around the deep field traps and into school.

When they reached the locker rooms, Megan was reluctant to let go.

“See you at lunch,” Sam told her, casually breaking the hold.

“Okay,” Megan replied, glancing down at her warm, empty palm.

As he went into the boys' locker rooms to change for lunch, Megan headed to the girls' and quickly searched her backpack for her cell phone. She checked the time. “Darn.” Rachel was in class.

Not wanting to forget, Megan made a note in her spiral to call Rachel later.

She couldn't wait to tell her best friend all about Sam.

The next morning, something was nagging at Megan's memory.

Something important she'd forgotten.

She opened her notebook. There were only two things listed.

Read
Frankenstein
.

Check. She'd done that and taken careful notes.

Next: Call Rachel.

Check. She'd done that last night before bed.

Rachel had wanted to know if she still had a crush on Brett. And for a second Megan couldn't remember who Brett was, so she looked him up online and pasted a printout of his profile page in her notebook.

Of course she still had a crush on Brett. She'd liked him since she'd met him.

Sam was — well, Megan didn't exactly know what Sam was.

“He's a new friend,” Megan told Rachel. Which was true.

That's when Rachel said, “Brett's been asking about you.”

“Really?” Megan's heart felt like it might leap out of her chest. “When?”

“He asks at least once every day,” Rachel told Megan. “Sometimes when we eat lunch together or when we hang outside during free period, and almost always after school when I see him at the theater.”

“Wow,” Megan said. “Brett is asking about me. Very cool.”

“Yeah,” Rachel said. “He is cool.”

That night Megan stayed up, smiling to herself, reading and rereading Brett Hansen's school profile.

In the morning she told herself that when she got back to Dana Point, she'd go by the school theater first thing and talk to Brett. Really talk to him, looking him in the eye and everything.

Megan checked her notebook again. Calling Rachel wasn't what she'd forgotten.

“I seriously have to write
everything
down,” Megan told herself. It felt like her zombitus brain fuzz was slowly getting worse. Then again, if she had to have symptoms, brain fog was better than peeling skin.

The calendar said it was Tuesday. Megan reviewed her schedule.

The day before, when Megan met Happy for “lunch,” she'd discovered a pretty great thing about Zombie Academy: There were no classes after noon! It wasn't perfectly perfect because she had three classes on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and another three on Tuesday, Thursday, and SATURDAY! But still, since her afternoons were free, Megan didn't mind too much that her Saturdays were school days.

After classes ended today, she was going with Sam and Happy to the school movie theater. They were showing zombie movies, of course. If zombitus wasn't contagious, Zach really would have loved this place!

Thinking about Zach made Megan think about her parents. And about Rachel.

She missed them all so much. She'd only been gone a night and yet it felt like much longer. It was hard to say if that was the creeping zombie brain fog, or just normal homesickness.

Thankfully, when the cure was released, she'd get some and then …

THAT'S IT!

The cure was the thing she'd forgotten.

She wanted to find out more about it. Plan her trip home. Tell Zach, her parents, and Rachel.

Of all the things to forget, Megan couldn't believe
that
was the one that slipped out of her brain.

Before calling her parents, she needed information. Like when EXACTLY she'd be leaving. Sam seemed to know everything about ZA, so she'd ask him. Thankful that her knees could bend, Megan ran all the way to her first Tuesday class. It was Zombie History.

 

“Sam!” she shouted as she rushed into Room 601. “I need to know —”

The classroom was full. It was the biggest room in the castle and every zombie in the school was packed in tight. Teachers, staff, and students —
everyone. The moaning was so loud and constant, it sounded to Megan as if she'd walked into a beehive.

Sam and Happy were sitting together on the floor.

“Excuse me.” Megan had to step over several straight legs to reach them. While she was picking her way toward her friends, someone shoved her from behind. “Umph,” Megan said, as she turned to see who'd pushed her.

Brooke gave Megan a sharp-toothed smile. “Not sorry,” she said.

Brenda and Betsy sneered.

“Not-apology not accepted,” Megan replied.

She'd watched the Bs in the school hallways and around the dorm. They were mean. And yet everyone wanted to hang out with them, to dress and act like them. Kids looked up to them and did what they said to do. Popularity was confusing.

Megan gave Brooke her very own normal-toothed smile and took a seat on the floor, squishing herself in between Happy and Sam.

“It's hot,” Happy said. “This place is crammed with too many people.”

Megan had to agree. “What's going on? Is Zombie History always this crowded?”

“Class got canceled,” Sam whispered to Megan as the lights suddenly dimmed. “Didn't you get the announcement?”

Megan shook her head. She glanced up and saw Brenda holding a bright red piece of ZA stationery in the air. Megan's name was printed across the front in big letters. While Megan watched, Brenda ripped it into tiny shreds and threw the confetti pieces into the air. They drifted down like bloodstained snowfall.

“Ugh.” Megan turned away.

A spotlight illuminated the front of the classroom.

“Teachers, children, and friends …” The man who stepped into the light was the fattest zombie Megan had ever seen. He'd stopped aging at about forty and wore Bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, with a lei of fresh flowers around his scratched, fleshy neck.

“Let me guess.” Megan leaned over to whisper to Happy. “Mr. Jones?” He fit right in with the decoration of the Academy. He'd created a tropical paradise for his permanent vacation.

“He has terrible taste in fashion,” Happy replied.

Megan looked at Happy's own outfit. She was wearing black pants today, instead of a black skirt.
But it was still all black, all the time. Megan wasn't convinced Happy was a fashion expert.

Mr. Jones was drooling blood. Wet, soggy bloodstains covered the front of his shirt. Megan hoped it was his blood. If he'd snacked on someone else's brains, she was outta there, contagious or not. Megan shivered.

“It's okay,” Sam told her. “Mr. Jones is very nice. You should go see him. He likes to meet new students.”

Megan didn't feel comforted. She wrapped her arms around her bent knees and shivered again. “‘Did you say ‘meet' or ‘eat' new students?” Megan asked Sam.

Sam laughed. “Stop worrying. Mr. Jones doesn't eat kids. Go see him. He lives behind the school. There are signs pointing the way.”

Megan said she'd think about it. Then she wrote a reminder down in her notebook so she wouldn't forget.

“I have called you all together for a reason,” the owner of the castle said loudly. Mr. Jones paused a long minute to let the zombies get out their groans. When the room settled, he went on. “As you know,
our researchers here at the ZA California Castle have discovered a cure for zombitus.”

The room erupted in thin applause. Megan clapped louder than anyone.

“I know you are eagerly anticipating the cure.” He wiped at his mouth with a white handkerchief, smearing blood across his chin.

To calm her nerves, Megan told herself that he'd probably been eating strawberry Jell-O in the hallway and focused on the fact that she was about to find out the one thing she really wanted to know. With excited anticipation, Megan leaned forward.

“I have waited many years, centuries even, for this day,” Mr. Jones said. His voice had a slight tinge of a European accent. As if he'd lived in California a very long time, but had originally come from somewhere else.

Mr. Jones scanned the crowd and took a deep breath before casting his eyes downward. “I regret to inform you that last night our lab was broken into.” He paused for another round of moans. “The cure was stolen.”

Megan was devastated. “But, but, but …” She couldn't wrap her brain around the idea that she wasn't going to be home in a few days. A big tear rolled down her cheek.

“Don't get too emotional,” Happy warned. “Remember what Nurse Karen said?”

Megan actually did remember. “Zombitus gets worse if you get mad or angry.”

“Or sad or scared,” Happy added. “Or feel too happy.”

“Right.” Megan sniffed back her tears.

Happy handed Megan a black handkerchief. “This is just like last time.”

“Exactly,” Sam said as they walked together to science class.

Megan wiped her eyes and asked, “Last time? What do you mean?”

“Since I've been here, it's the third time this has happened,” Sam said.

Happy said, “Someone doesn't want us to be cured.”

“Whoever it was took all the notes, fried the computers, and trashed the lab.” Sam repeated what Mr. Jones had told them in the meeting. “The doctors will have to start again.”

Megan blinked back more tears. “Can't they remember what they did?”

“They all have zombitus, too. Their memories are fuzzy,” Happy said as she pressed the button for the glass elevator. The science lab was on the third floor. “No one can remember all the steps to make the cure.”

“Don't they have ZA notebooks?” Megan held up the one Nurse Karen had given her. It simply wasn't possible that the cure was gone.

“You heard Mr. Jones. They were stolen,” Sam said, shaking his head. “They're going to have to start all over again.” He frowned. “From the very beginning.”

“But they'll find another cure?” Megan asked, struggling to stay positive. “Won't they?”

“Someday,” Happy assured her in a voice that was not very convincing. She added, “I hope you like it here, Megan. Looks like we're all gonna be here a long, long time.”

 

Megan couldn't focus in science and this time she was sure it wasn't because of zombie brain fog. She was sad, mad, and homesick. She didn't want to be at Zombie Academy for “a long, long time.” All Megan wanted was to go home, back to her normal life.

She was so preoccupied that she didn't see someone rush by her desk toward the supply closet. And she didn't notice when that same zombie returned, this time pausing to add something red to the slimy blue molecular solution Megan had been working on all period.

Unfortunately, she didn't clue in until the experiment turned bright purple and began to bubble over, spilling across the table and onto the floor. It burned a large hole through the desk and dissolved the floor tiles near Megan's feet.

The smell was horrible!

And to make things worse, Dr. Verma made Megan put on protective gear and get a mop, even though the mess totally wasn't her fault! But it didn't matter who caused it, the experiment was Megan's responsibility.

Through the visor on the thick rubber face mask, Megan could see the Bs gathered together at the back of the room. She hadn't seen which one did it, but Megan knew the Ghouls were behind the chemical attack.

Brooke, Betsy, and Brenda were acting busy. Brooke was managing the lab work, writing in a red pen that matched her see-through veins. Brenda was retying the bow on her green prom dress, similarly frilly to yesterday's — but also torn and dirty with tire tracks down the front. And Betsy was washing her hands with sanitizing lotion.

“Megan, come here for a moment.” Dr. Verma had won a Nobel Prize in chemistry before she contracted zombitus. She was part of the school's research team. And she had no sense of humor. “You did not follow the experiment's instructions,” she said in a heavy Indian accent. “And you've ruined school property. Can you explain yourself?”

“I —” Megan began to explain, but since she hadn't seen the Bs actually do anything, she felt uncomfortable blaming them. Even if she was positive they'd caused the damage.

“Yes?” Dr. Verma asked.

“I guess I made a mistake.” Megan lowered her head.

She got a zero on the lab.

The Mean Ghouls giggled to one another, but Megan didn't care.

Her parents would be mad when they heard she wasn't doing well in science. And still, Megan didn't care.

Megan didn't care about anything. It had been a horrible morning. All she wanted to do was go back to her dorm room, curl up in bed, and cry. Instead, she had to sit on her stool and wait for the others to wrap up their lab experiments.

Class still wasn't over when Happy raised her hand. “Dr. Verma, Megan got some chemical slime on herself.”

Megan looked down and sure enough, whatever the Ghouls had added to her test tube was rapidly eating through the front of Megan's T-shirt. There was a hole revealing Megan's belly button, and if she
didn't change fast, the acid would destroy her entire shirt.

Happy quickly got permission to go with Megan back to the dorm. Out in the hall, Happy surveyed the damage. The hole was spreading up toward Megan's neck. “Lame Ghouls,” Happy groaned. “We don't have time to go all the way to our room.” The bathroom was nearby, and the girls ducked inside. “You have to get that thing off now.”

Megan jumped into a stall and pulled off the remnants of her acid-eaten top. “What am I going to wear?”

Happy opened her backpack and pulled out a shirt. She threw it over the stall door to Megan. Megan could barely contain her surprise as she pulled it over her head.

The shirt was totally cute. It was bright blue with small yellow flowers hand-sewn on the shoulders. And nothing on it was black.

“I love this!” Megan told Happy.

“I hate it,” Happy replied. “I was going to throw it away.”

“Where'd you get it?” Megan asked as she tucked the shirt into her jeans.

“I made it,” Happy said.

“Huh?!” Megan was shocked.

Happy gave a heavy sigh as she admitted, “I sew.”

Megan came out and admired her reflection in the mirror. “You're really talented.”

“I don't think so,” Happy replied. Very carefully, she picked Megan's old shirt off the floor, where it was burning a hole in the tile beside the toilet, and threw it away. The chemicals immediately began to dissolve the metal can as white, wispy smoke filled the bathroom. “Your shirt is eating the castle. We gotta take care of this before we go back to class.”

Megan waited while Happy called for a janitor.

A fully transformed zombie woman, dressed in an oversize Hawaiian muumuu, arrived within seconds. She put the whole can inside the stainless-steel hazardous waste cart she'd brought with her.

Happy said, “Mahalo,” Hawaiian for
thanks
, and the woman disappeared as fast as she'd arrived.

Once again, Megan felt like she was a guest at a resort hotel. She wondered if drinks would be served with tiny umbrellas. Of course, she might never know the answer. Zombies rarely got thirsty.

After the trash can was gone, Happy explained, “My parents are fashion designers.” She paused then said, “They're kind of famous.” Happy blushed and
pointed to herself. “My whole name is Henrietta Alicia Paulette Patricia Yeverman.”

“Yeverman!” Megan knew that name. “Wow.” She looked at Happy in a new way. Her roommate was rich — very, very rich — and connected to celebrities. And, she
was
a fashion expert. Megan felt bad for doubting her.

“Close your eyes before they fall out,” Happy said with a scowl. “Don't make me regret telling you. I don't want people here to know.” She groaned. “I told my parents they are
not
invited to Visitors' Day.”

Whoa! Megan didn't know what was more surprising: Happy was the daughter of famous fashion designers. Happy could sew — in color. Or that there was a Visitors' Day!

One thing at a time. “Why black?” she asked as Happy slicked on a fresh coat of dark lipstick.

“I want to be different,” Happy replied in a thin voice. “Everyone here gets a fresh start. Didn't you change anything about yourself when you left your last school?”

“Uh, no.” Megan had no idea what Happy was talking about. “Change what?”

Happy turned to Megan. “You said Brenda changed her name from Gertrude, right?” Megan had
told Happy about the hallway incident the day before while they ate decayed zucchini casserole for lunch. “Now, take Brooke for another example. We went to the same middle school in New York. She was the least popular girl there.”

“Seriously?” Megan asked. She tried to imagine Brooke without the Bs.

“She got here, found the Bs, and” — Happy smacked her lips together — “with a little work on her nasty attitude, ta-dah, she's popular.” Happy slid the lipstick back into her bag and added, “Those other Bs weren't the queens at their old schools either.”

“Hmmm.” Megan thought about what she was like at her middle school in Dana Point. She was pretty quiet. And she tended to avoid confrontation with mean girls like Brett's sister, Hailey. It hadn't occurred to her to try to be more popular or to change who she was when she got to ZA. But she did feel stronger here. And less likely to take orders from anyone just because they were popular.

“And you?” Megan asked Happy. “How did you change?”

“My parents expect me to design clothes and someday work with them — so that's what I used to
focus on. I never painted before I got here,” Happy admitted. “I like it.”

Megan smiled. It was the first time she'd ever heard Happy say anything positive.

Of course, being Happy, she immediately added, “I'm not very good, though.”

“Sam thinks you're great,” Megan said. “Why not try painting in color?”

“Boring.” Happy snorted. “Then I'd be like everyone else.”

As they walked out of the bathroom, Megan found that she was feeling a little better. She still wanted to get cured and go home ASAP, but now that Happy had shared something private, something really important to her, she felt like she had a best friend at ZA.

And she was fascinated by the idea that kids coming to the Academy felt like they could change who they'd been or how they'd been treated at their old schools. Megan wondered about Sam. What had he been like before? Was he different now, too?

“Home economics is starting now.” Happy looked at her watch. “Science is over.”

“Isn't home ec a thing from the 1950s?” Megan asked.

That wasn't what she'd planned to ask Happy. She had a different, more important question to get to first, but yet again, the thought wasn't sticky in her brain. It was frustrating not being able to remember what you were thinking minute to minute.

“In the olden days, home ec used to be for girls to learn sewing, cooking, cleaning — you know, the skills they'd need when they got married.” The corners of Happy's lips rose to the place where Megan thought she might smile. But she didn't. “Now it's about living a zombie life.”

“I don't get it,” Megan said. “A zombie life?”

“It's an easy class.” Happy checked her red notebook for the schedule. “Today, we're cooking zombie food.”

“That doesn't sound bad,” Megan said. “I liked the cafeteria vegeta —” It took an instant for Megan to realize what they were making. “Ugh. We're doing brain recipes, aren't we?” Megan's stomach flipped as if she'd just gotten off a roller coaster. “Ewww,” she said.

“Don't worry,” Happy said. “We don't use real human brains in class. You can choose rabbit or pig.”

“Uhhhh-uhhhh,” Megan groaned. She thought she might puke.

Even without smiling, Happy could joke. “Just kidding,” she said dryly. “We're making desserts out of rotten fruit.”

Suddenly, Megan's stomach felt better, and she found she was in fact hungry. “I could go for that.”

“I hate fruit,” Happy said. “And vegetables. And meat. And bread.” She added, “And brains.”

“Of course you do,” Megan said with a chuckle, adding, “I hate brains, too.”

As they walked down the hallway, a young boy, about ten years old, came rushing up to Megan. He grabbed her around the waist so hard, he nearly knocked her down.

“I love you,” the boy said. He had straight dark hair and wore glasses. There was a huge gash over one of his eyes and a long gooey slash down his right arm. If she ignored the zombie stuff, the boy reminded Megan of Zach.

“Uhhhh,” Megan half groaned. She wasn't sure how to respond. It was the first time a boy, other than her dad, had told her he loved her.

He released her from the hug, just enough to look up at Megan. “Until you came, the Bs didn't like me because I pulled a fire-alarm prank that made the sprinklers go off in the dorm and got all their stuff
wet!” He hugged Megan again. “They've been mad at me for years. But now they don't like
you
more.” Megan cringed. She hadn't meant to make them hate her.

The class bell rang and the boy said, “You saved my zombie-life.” He stood on tiptoes and kissed Megan's cheek before running off to join his friends.

“I can't believe the Mean Ghouls would pick on a little kid.” Megan turned to Happy. “If the Bs can change from unpopular to popular, I wonder what it would take to change them back.” She bit the inside of her cheek, then, realizing if she made a sore it might never heal, stopped.

“I can only think of one way to knock them down,” Happy replied. The Bs were standing at the end of the hallway, staring at Megan.

Megan knew what that one thing was.

She had to find the missing zombitus cure and send the Bs back to the middle schools they came from.