The Awesome (15 page)

Well, kidnapping stuff aside it was safe.

I didn’t know how to voice my concerns without sounding like an unsympathetic turd, but at least there was some consolation in knowing Mom wasn’t sure what to make of things either. The main clue? No music playing in the van. It was rare Janice forsook her tunes, but this ride was silent. When we pulled into the driveway, she stuffed four pieces of cigarette gum into her mouth, a weird lump forming in her cheek. She looked like a baseball guy about to spit a wad of tobacco.

“Did you want to give me your Mom’s phone number, Lauren?” Mom asked, opening the back door of the van and reaching for some bags. “I’ll call your family when we get inside.”

“Sure. Thank you.”

Lauren grabbed the rest of the Walmart stuff, leaving me with myself to worry about. I’d have called her a show off for being able to carry eighty bags at once with her super strength, but that would imply I wanted to help, and I was perfectly content being lazy.

“All right. After you drop off those in the kitchen, Maggie will show you to the shower.”

I almost said “I will?” but I figured that’d land me in the crap again, so I kept quiet and headed into the house. I showed Lauren where to put the bags and then ushered her to the downstairs bathroom, offering her a towel.

“Thanks, Maggie,” she said.

I closed the door behind her. A few minutes later, I heard the spray of water. I threw myself onto the couch and turned the TV on, willing my brain to shut down. Maybe I could catch a marathon of
Honey Boo Boo
reruns, or some
Survivor
. Both were known to drop the IQ of the watcher by at least fifty points, and considering the day, I could use some dumbing down. Sadly, Mom wasn’t keen on my plan; she emerged from the kitchen with her cell in hand, giving me a heavy look from beneath her brows.

“You’re worrying me,” she said.

“Huh? Why?” I pushed myself upright on the couch. “I’m fine.”

“This morning’s gurgling on the phone, then the graveyard sniffing. Is there anything you want to tell me?”

Plenty of things, but I can’t. I’d love to, but I can’t.

“No, I’m fine. It’s been a long day. You know, a zombie in the house. It’s freaky. Plus she’s... uhh. Stinky.” I lowered my voice on the last to not be heard.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll be careful and... see, that’s the thing that’s got me worried, Maggie. I can’t smell her.”

That gave me pause. Lauren reeked, so how was it I had to suppress gags around her and Mom didn’t?

“Oh.”

“Bit strange, don’t you think?”

“I guess?” I shrugged and squirmed back into the couch. “It’s the first time I’ve smelled a zombie, so maybe I’m sensitive to it.”

“Maybe.”

I could tell by her expression she wasn’t convinced. For that matter, neither was I.

I
KNEW
I
AN
had basketball practice on Monday night, but that didn’t stop me from sneaking into my room to call him at half past eight. Mom was busy dealing with Lauren stuff; Lauren’s family was thrilled she was found but not-so-thrilled Mom didn’t plant her back into the ground “where she belonged.” Lauren took the rejection poorly, and Mom was doing her best to console a weepy zombie, offering platefuls of hamburger meat and handfuls of Kleenex. At least Lauren smelled slightly less disgusting when she emerged from the shower. I could be in the same room without wanting to vomit now.

I could have called Julie to angst over my strange house guest (mostly because I couldn’t angst over my vampire kidnapping), but as lame as it was to admit, I wanted to hear Ian’s voice. I didn’t expect to talk to him, figuring on getting his voice mail, but three rings in I had the guy himself. My guts clenched in the good way, not the ‘I have to poop and I can’t’ way.

“Hello?”

“Hey. It’s Maggie.”

“Hey. Hi.” He sounded happy to hear me.

A smile spread across my face. “Hey. Sorry to bother you. I thought you’d be at practice. Figured I’d leave a message.”

“I got out a half hour ago,” he said. “I didn’t recognize your number so I almost didn’t pick up. Glad I did. I meant to ask, like, what you like to do? Making plans for tomorrow night.”

“Uhhhh.” Self-conscious, stupid Maggie brain rifled through a list of things girls
should
say so I wouldn’t look abnormal. Girls liked shopping, right? They liked shopping, and shoes. Lots and lots of shoes. He’d think I was broken if I told him I only owned three pairs, one of which was flip-flops so I wasn’t sure they counted. The other two were sneakers and combat boots...

“Mags? You there?”

“Oh. Sorry. Hi. Anything’s fine.”

He snorted, and I could picture his half-lip curl grin in my head. Thinking about it made me relax. “You sure? You took an awful long time to answer.”

“I don’t like shoes.”

The moment it escaped my lips, I collapsed onto my bed, feeling like a total tool. I wanted to roll over and bury my head under the pillows. That must have seemed so out there to him, like I’d pulled it straight out of my butt.

Ian, for his part, laughed. “’Kay. So no shoes.”

“Sorry.” Attempting to fit in wasn’t working. In fact, I was pretty sure it made me look like
more
of a loser than I was. I decided to try the truth; he said he thought me being a hunter was cool. Maybe, just maybe, he’d decide the rest of me wasn’t so bad either.

I mean, I couldn’t be the only one who understood how awesome I was.

“I like shooting. Like, at shooting ranges. And I like ghost hunting, especially in cemeteries at night. Video games— fighters, but I’m cool with first person shooters. Uhhh.” I took a long, strangled breath. “Anything’s fine. We could hang out here or your place or whatever.”

For The Sex
, I silently added.
I’d be totally fine with The Sex.

“Maybe after, sure. Have you ever paintballed before?”

“No.”

“Nice. Some of my basketball buddies go. I’ll give ’em a call. I think you’ll like it. Maybe I’ll call Jules and John, too. You got some shitty clothes? It’s messy.”

“Do I have shitty clothes? Hell yes, I do. The shittiest clothes you could imagine. Empress Shitty Clothes the First, reporting for duty.”

Ian laughed. “Cool, cool. Six tomorrow night then?”

“Sounds great.” And it did. Firing gun-like things at living targets was right up my alley. Better than a semi-formal or a prom, anyway—froofy dresses and updos were terrifying. Semi-automatics? Piece of cake.

“See you then Mags.”

Mags. I officially had a nickname. How friggin’ cute was that?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I
DIDN’T EAT
or sleep all of Monday night. The food thing wasn’t
such
a big deal; I could chalk it up to Lauren’s rancid smell. Every time I thought about putting something in my mouth, I caught a waft of grave rot, and my appetite went limper than an old man’s wing-wang. The no sleep thing was unsettling, though. I climbed into bed around midnight, willing away my craptastic day, but after an hour of tossing and turning, I gave up. I figured it was nerves about the zombie in the basement, or maybe some residual kidnapping psychosis. Whatever the case, I wandered downstairs to hang out with Mom until I was tired. She had a black and white movie on the television and a beer in her hand. An abandoned bag of microwave popcorn lay by her feet. I pulled up couch space beside her, my feet swinging over to rest in her lap.

“What are you doing back up?” She asked, pressing the cold beer bottle against the arch of my foot. I walloped her with a throw pillow before tucking my legs beneath me.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t know.” I craned my neck towards the kitchen to see if Lauren was in there chowing down on hamburger. The lights were off and nothing smelled dead, so I assumed she’d gone to bed. “Is she downstairs?”

“Yeah. Speaking of which, tomorrow I need you to zombie-sit while I’m at headquarters. I’m pretty sure she’s not going to maul a neighbor, but I’d feel better knowing you could put one in her brain in case I’m wrong.”

I frowned, giving Mom the hairy eyeball from my side of the couch. Sitting around with Lauren all day wasn’t a fun prospect. She was way too human to eat soccer moms, so I’d essentially be stuck at home carrying a loaded gun for the sole purpose of watching The View. That felt like a waste of a perfectly good Tuesday, and there were much more exciting things to do, like hunt ghosts and punch pookahs. Maybe stab an elf in the neck for shits and giggles.

“Ugh. Fine. I have a date tomorrow night, though, so as long as you’re home by then.”

Mom emptied the contents of her beer bottle and let out an earth-shaking burp. “A date, huh? Gonna get down?”

“No. We’re paintballing. And
Excuse You
. You’re gross.”

She grinned. “I’m rubber, you’re glue.”

“Shut up, Mom.”

“Whaaaat?” She winked and settled into the corner of the couch, patting her knee in invitation. I stretched out along the opposite side, my feet returning to her lap. We fell into amicable silence, with Katherine Hepburn waltzing across the flat screen. I had no idea what went on with the story, but everyone looked pretty saying their lines. When the credits rolled forty-five minutes later, Mom wriggled her way out from under me to collect her dirty dishes. She stifled a yawn against her shoulder, her eyes drifting to the clock on the cable box.

“I must be getting old. I’m beat,” she said, heading towards the kitchen. “You want anything?”

“No thanks.”

She paused to look at me over her shoulder. “What have you eaten today?”

“Half a box of Lucky Charms this morning, and the roast beef this afternoon.”

“And?”

“And what? That’s it. I’m not hungry.”

I thought she’d say something else, maybe argue with me about my inferior nutritional decisions, but she shook her head and disappeared into the kitchen. She emerged a couple minutes later with a ham and cheese sandwich, promptly depositing it onto the coffee table before me.

“Make your old lady happy and eat that. I’m crashing. If I don’t see you tomorrow morning, I’ll give you a call when I’m coming home from headquarters.” She brushed a kiss against the top of my head and headed for the stairs. “Night, brat.”

“Night.”

As soon as her bedroom door closed, I dissected the sandwich, pulling away the bread and cheese to eat the ham. I wasn’t hungry, but pig was too delicious to pass up, so I picked at it while I channel surfed. I figured sooner or later I’d get tired of TV and head off to bed. I figured wrong. When Mom resurfaced at nine the next morning all geared up and ready for the day, I was in the same position she’d left me in the night before. The only difference between then and now was the ham and cheese looked more like a lab experiment than a sandwich thanks to my dissection. Oh, and I was better versed in infomercials.

“Did you sleep?”

“A little,” I lied, not wanting to freak her out. I had no idea why I wasn’t tired, but I didn’t think it was such a big deal. I felt fine. More than fine. I felt spry. Well, the lazier side of spry—I did couch surf for eight straight hours.

“Do more than a little. I can’t stand around and argue...” She checked the clock and sighed. “Don’t be a shit, Maggie. You need sleep. I’m bringing some burger down to Lauren. If you can check on her later to make sure she’s not dying or... uhh...” Mom paused. “You get the point.”

“Uh huh.”

“I might have Jeff over tonight, but I promise we’ll be wearing pants this time.”

“Gee, thanks.”

She tossed me a wink. “Later, hon. And for Christ’s sake, eat something.”

She hit the fridge, hit the basement steps, and then hit the road. I stayed on the couch for the next three hours, learning valuable life lessons from TV like Justin Bieber’s shoe size and how to get ink out of silk. Lauren never emerged from the basement, and when I went downstairs to check on her she languished in bed, stinking up our sheets. The plate of hamburger meat beside her was empty, though, so I assumed she was still alive.

Well, alive-ish.

“Hey, are you hungry?” I asked.

“No, thank you.”

She sniffled and stared at the wall, keeping her back to me. She was all kinds of miserable about her family wanting her re-deaded, and I didn’t have the faintest clue how to make it better. It wasn’t that I didn’t care, I was bad with this stuff. Whenever I felt bad Mom made me laugh. That’s how I’d learned to cope with things—cracking jokes—but not knowing Lauren all that well, I didn’t want to risk her thinking I was laughing at her expense. I mean, if I said something witty about butterfly bungholes she might take it wrong, and the next thing you know she’d be using my femur as a lollipop.

“If you need something, yell or come on up or whatever,” I said. “I’m around to hang.”

“Thanks, but I’m all set. I’d prefer to be alone.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I returned upstairs feeling like a craptastic human being. Lauren needed something, maybe a shoulder to cry on or a duck to maim, and I was too socially inept to provide either, shortage of live ducks notwithstanding. I failed at basic human interaction. Was this a hugging moment? Was I supposed to pat Lauren on the shoulder and say, “Here, here. Mom won’t blow your brains out
today
. Tomorrow, though, who knows?”