Zombified (22 page)

“That's interesting,” I said. It wasn't. It also wasn't very original or deep. “But I think you missed the point of the show.” Crystal giggled and Gabe looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. I was sure he wasn't used to people disagreeing with him or challenging him in any way. How boy-like.

“
Scooby-Doo
is a horror story,” I said, “just not the kind you expect it to be. It's actually an existential horror story where the kids learn again and again that the true monsters are people. All someone needs is some distancing technique, like, you know, a mask, to feel comfortable committing a crime.

“I mean, it's got more in common with
Crime and Punishment
than it does with
Tom and Jerry.
You know?”

Crystal's smile got bigger and bigger as I spoke, and Gabe's frown deepened.

“I mean, that's just off the top of my head,” I said. “I'm sure I'd be able to flesh it out a bit more if I was going to write an essay about it.”

“Oh, Gabe,” Crystal said as she laid a hand on his chest, “don't be mad that Courtney is smarter than you. She's smarter than
everyone
.”

“Yeah, cute,” Gabe said. “I'm going to go talk to some guys over there.” He pointed his chin in a vague direction and then stalked away.

“I don't think he liked my theory,” I said.

“Oh, God,” she said. “
Scooby-Doo
. He just wouldn't shut up about it. I knew you'd put him in his place.”

“You could have just told him to leave you alone,” I said.

“Oh, God,” she said. “I'd never do that! That's so rude.”

That made me laugh because she didn't think that using me like some kind of smarty-pants guided missile was rude at all.

“So, how about you? Have you heard back from any of your colleges yet?” she asked me. “I'm still waiting on the Evergreen State College and Beloit. I got into U of O, but that's my safety school.”

“I didn't apply anywhere,” I said.

She looked at me like I'd farted in church or proclaimed my hatred for UGGs.

“I want to go to Columbia,” I said. “I've had my heart set on it forever, and I'm willing to wait until they reopen it.”

“So what are you going to do next year?” she asked. “Work?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or I might volunteer somewhere. I haven't given it too much thought.”

“Wow,” she said. “My dad would blow his top if I didn't go directly to college.”

Worse than what she said was the look on her face as it slowly dawned on her what she had said. She clasped her hand to her mouth like she was holding back a scream.

“Oh, God, Courtney,” she said. “I am so sorry.”

“It's okay,” I said. “You don't have to police everything you say around me. And the truth is, my dad and I talked about it a few times before he died. He wasn't crazy about the idea of me taking a year off, but he also didn't think it'd be good for me to rush into school if I wasn't fully committed.”

“Well,” said Crystal. “I'm still sorry. I feel like a douche.”

“You are probably the least douchey person I know,” I told her.

“You know,” she said, and she frowned as she said it, “I wish we'd stayed close like we were before high school. I really miss you sometimes—and the stupid crap we used to do, you know?”

I took another sip of my drink to cover the fact that I didn't know what to say. I was not prepared for Crystal to enter the maudlin phase of drunkenness, especially not with me as the target for her tears. Thankfully, this was Crystal Beals, and her being depressed lasted about five seconds.

“Oh! Have you heard?” she exclaimed, all hints of sadness evaporated like a drop of dew in the face of a nuclear blast.

“Um, I don't know,” I said.

High-pitched laughter and the sound of breaking glass came from somewhere in the depths of the group. I saw that it was time to wrap this up soon.

“They announced the details of the senior kegger!”

“That's great,” I said.

“You're going, right?” She grasped my arm like my answer was the most important thing she was able to imagine.

The senior kegger was a tradition going back at least to the 1970s—so,
ancient
. It was interrupted for a couple of years right after the dead came back, but nothing could keep teenage kids from drinking, so it came back. It's a yearly party, a huge blowout for all of the seniors.
All
of the seniors, no one excluded. It's one of the few democratic social events on the high school calendar. It's also highly illegal. The cops shut down about 75 percent of the parties before they even start, despite the fact that the seniors who plan it bring an eye for detail to the task that made Dwight Eisenhower look like he just threw together D-day at the last minute.

Of course Crystal was among the first to know where the party was going to be.

I looked at her smiling, hopeful face, and I felt my heart sink. I really hadn't planned to go, but how could I disappoint that face?

“I'm not sure,” I said. “They always get raided, and then everyone gets a minor-in-possession. Not sure if that's the best way to kick off the summer.”

“It will totally not be busted this year,” she said. “Michael and Dillon and Tyler have a foolproof plan for keeping the location a secret.” I recognized those names; they were all members of the ruling Jocktocracy. I didn't think those knuckleheads could come up with a foolproof plan for picking their noses, but I thought I'd humor Crystal.

“Yeah,” I said. “I'll think about it. Where's it going to be?”

“Can't tell you,” she said with a grin.

“How am I going to get there if I don't know where it is?” I asked.

“That's just it,” she said. “They won't tell anyone until the day of the kegger. You'll have to text a number and they'll text back with the location.”

I was able to see several flaws in this well-thought-out plot. The first one was that all it might take to bust the party was one fat-mouthed kid telling their parents or the cops what the number was to text. I didn't point this out.

“Okay,” I said. “Like I said, I'll think about it.”

I looked around for Phil and Cody. I spotted them on the far side of the group talking to some girls.

“It was good to see you, Crystal,” I said. “I'm going to go find Phil.”

“I really hope you'll come,” she said. “It might be our last time to hang out before we all go off to real life.”

She didn't let me leave before I assured her several times that I really meant to think about it. Okay, I might have lied and said I would be there for sure, which I hated to do, but man, I needed to get out of there. The crowd was getting rowdier and louder. There was more breaking glass. As I skirted the crowd to get to Phil and Cody, a shoving match broke out between two meatheads. It was pure play yard stuff, but it was a general indicator that we needed to scoot.

“Hey, Courtney,” Phil said as I approached. “I think it's time to go.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” I said. A beer can, hopefully empty, sailed past us to punctuate the point.

“Go?” Cody said. “Why would we go?” He'd obviously been talking with a girl, a pretty, somewhat chubby girl who looked sort of familiar to me, but I wasn't able to place her. She had apparently been talking back to him. I understood his reluctance.

“Have you been paying attention to what's going on around you?” I asked. I saw him looking at the girl and realized that, no, he hadn't been paying attention to anything else.

“The cops are going to be here any minute, Casanova,” I said. “Say good-bye to your new friend if you don't want to end up with an MIP.” I pointed at the red Solo cup he held in his hand.

“Really?” he asked.

Phil just nodded.

“Okay,” he said. But he said it in the same way he might ask us to punch him in the junk.

“I have your number,” he said to the girl. “I'll call you, okay?”

“Sure,” she said. “We need to get out of here, too.” She indicated her posse of bored-looking girlfriends.

Even though he'd agreed to go, Phil still had to grab Cody's arm and drag him away.

As we pulled out of the parking lot and toward home, I heard sirens in the distance. I wondered how many kids would have a bummer of a story to tell come Monday.

“Who was your friend?” I asked Cody. “She seemed nice.”

“Didn't she?” he asked. “Her name is . . .” He dug a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and consulted it. “Hannah.”

I started laughing at that, which just made Cody mad, which just made me laugh more.

“Stay gold, Ponyboy,” I said when I was finally able to breathe again. “Stay gold.”

“I swear I don't understand half the crap that comes out of your mouth,” Cody said in a huff.

That just made me laugh even harder.

And that was a pretty good wrap-up to the day.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

M
ondays were one of the days that I spent the afternoon at the community college for my Organic Chemistry and Biology classes. This was the college where my dad taught, so people, mostly teachers and administrators, were always seeking me out to give me their condolences, offer help, and such. I knew they meant well, but sometimes the last thing you want is to be confronted with the fact that your dad is dead. Especially when you already woke up every morning thinking about him.

By the time I got home, I was always exhausted—emotionally if not physically. That following Monday was no exception.

I mumbled something incoherent when Diane asked how my day had been, then I told her I was going to rest for a little bit before I helped her with dinner.

I closed the door to my room and lay down. Then I figured I'd surf online at the same time. Just because I was resting didn't mean I couldn't multitask.

I dragged my laptop out of my bag and onto the bed beside me. I fired it up and closed my eyes while I waited for it to come to life.

I opened one eye when an alert sounded telling me I had some unread e-mail.

I brought up the e-mail tab and gasped. I'd gotten a note from Dr. Keller. I sat up and clicked on the message.

There was more, but that was the point where I started whooping in joy.

About two seconds later, my bedroom door burst openand Phil stood there, wild-eyed, looking for signs of danger.

I sprang up and nearly tackled him in a hug. He looked at me, a complete lack of understanding all over his face. Suddenly I couldn't stop myself. No matter what, there was no way to keep my lips off that face for another moment.

I kissed him, a huge, wet, openmouthed kiss, and after a second, he joined me.

I don't know how long we kissed, but we only stopped when Phil's aunt cleared her throat behind us.

“Is everything all right, Courtney?” she asked.

“I'm going to Columbia,” I said. They both looked surprised and I laughed. I felt so buoyed, so high. I let go of Phil and grabbed my laptop off the bed. I read the e-mail aloud to them (minus the opening paragraphs about obtaining the sample of Vitamin Z) and by the time I was done, Diane was hopping up and down, clapping her hands. All thoughts of me violating her nephew were long gone. She took the two of us in a group hug.

“This is amazing news, Courtney,” she said. “And I can't think of anyone who deserves it more than you. Oh, I need to call Gene. We'll have to celebrate tonight!”

She went off to make plans and left Phil standing in my room somewhat awkwardly.

“Sorry about the kiss,” I said. “I was caught up in the moment, you know?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You deserve to be. It's great news. I'm really happy for you.”

“Thanks,” I said. “And I know you're going to get into the comics school. We'll both head out there together.”

“I hope so,” he said. “If it happens like that, it might lead to more kissing . . .”

I smiled so big I thought my cheeks were in danger of splitting.

“Oh, I don't think we have to wait for that.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck.

“No,” he said, “but we do have to wait until my aunt isn't in the next room.”

Killjoy.

“Fine,” I said, and gave him one quick peck as an act of defiance. “I'll behave. Now I need to finish reading this,” I said. I sat back on the bed and put the computer in my lap.

Phil watched me for a second before going back to his room and his homework.

The rest of Dr. Keller's e-mail detailed how to go about applying, if I was still interested. Yes, sir! I wrote him a quick response, telling him that I was most definitely still interested, and to thank him.

My only regret right then was that my dad wasn't around for me to talk to. I'm pretty sure he'd have been happy for me.

So, thinking about Dad, I got to work on the application materials.

 

Working on the application kept me occupied for a while. I had to track down my transcripts and have them forwarded to the university's admissions department. I needed to get people to write letters of recommendation (besides the one Dr. Keller was writing)—I asked my Organic Chem instructor, Professor Kassovitz, and the high school's counselor, Ms. Bjorn. I figured she knew me better than most of the staff at school, and I thought she'd be sympathetic. I also needed to write a couple of essays. Normally writing an essay was something I'd be able to do in my sleep, but these were supposed to be about me and why I wanted into Columbia. I agonized over every word. For the first time since I was a freshman, I went to the school's writing center and got several people to critique what I'd written.

Finally, after about a hundred drafts—I'm not kidding—I gathered everything together in one e-mail and shipped it off to Dr. Keller for him to look over and forward to admissions.

I collapsed on my bed and thought I'd sleep for a million years.

Phil came in and sat on the edge of my bed.

“Go away,” I said. “I'm not here.”

He rubbed my leg.

“You can stay if you keep doing that,” I said.

“Did you send it off?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then you're ready to blow off a little steam?” he asked.

“What sort of steam-blowing were you thinking about?” I asked. If it had anything to do with the leg rubbing, I was in. I tried to remember if Gene and Diane were in the house.

“It's Saturday,” Phil said, like that was an explanation.

“I'm not following you,” I said.

“Chacho's party is today,” he said. “Did you forget?”

“Of course not,” I said. But I totally had. “Do I have time for a nap?”

“No,” he said.

I wanted to mount a brilliant verbal defense that would make him leave me alone to sleep. What came out of my mouth was, “Blargh.”

“Exactly,” Phil said. He stood up. “Let's go. We have to stop at the store on the way. Can't arrive empty-handed.”

It took more effort to get out of that bed than it had ever taken for me to do anything, but I got up, put on clothes that a human person might wear, and followed Phil out to the car.

In the end, of course, I was really glad I went.

Chacho had texted me the address, and he lived not too far from Phil's place. His house was tiny and immaculate. So was the yard. It looked like something out of a magazine photo essay. Like, Martha Stewart would have been proud to claim it as her own. The only thing spoiling the effect was the fence that surrounded the yard. It was to other chain-link fences what a Sherman tank is to a VW Bug. Easily six feet tall with heavy metal support beams, it looked more secure than the fence at our school. I bet the supports were nice and deep. It'd probably repel a whole army of zombies. Well, I knew where I was heading during the next undead uprising.

The gate stood open, which seemed bad from a security standpoint, but there were a lot of people, mostly kids, hanging out in the front yard, so they'd have been able to close it in case of shufflers, I guess. The kids all openly stared at us as we walked past. I waved, feeling self-conscious. Phil seemed not to notice.

“He must be in the back,” he said. “You can smell the barbecue.”

It was a good guess. We went around the side of the house and as soon as we turned the corner, we saw Chacho. He was dressed even more casually than the last time I saw him. I knew he wasn't going to be wearing his security outfit to grill for family and friends, but I just wasn't ready for him to be shirtless and wearing cut-off jeans.

“Hey, you made it!” he hollered from behind a very complicated-looking piece of machinery, which I assumed was a grill of some sort.

We walked over, Phil handing over the gallon of store-bought fruit salad we'd brought.

“You didn't have to do that,” Chacho said, “but thanks.” He set the salad on a table already groaning under the weight of all the food it held.

“Hey, love,” he called in the general direction of a group of women who stood a ways off talking and laughing. “Come over here. Someone I want you to meet.”

A pretty, tall blond woman detached herself and walked over. I don't know why, but I'd expected Chacho's wife to be Mexican, too. Mexican or Latina or I wasn't sure of the politically correct term. I'd just not mention ethnicity.

“This is my wife, Karla,” Chacho said, and she shook our hands and said hello. “Karla, this is Phil and Courtney.”

At the mention of my name, she stopped for a second and really looked at me. I felt like I wanted to shrink. What the hell had he said about me?

“Hi, Courtney,” she said. “I've heard a lot about you from Michael.”

“Michael?” I asked. “That's your name?”

Chacho frowned and looked at his wife, hurt. “Karla.”

“I'm sorry,” she said. “Were you trying to keep up the tough-guy act? It doesn't work so well when you're dressed like that.”

“It gets hot behind the grill,” Chacho said.

I knew that I was going to like Karla just as much as I liked her husband.

“My boys are running around over there somewhere,” Chacho pointed to a big group of kids who were tearing it up back along the fence. “At this point, I couldn't tell you which ones are mine.”

“Maybe if they sit still long enough to eat, we can introduce you,” Karla said.

“Courtney, you should ask my wife about her job,” Chacho said. “Karla's a nurse. Courtney wants to be a doctor or something, right?” he asked me.

She and I walked off and talked while Phil stayed behind and pretended to help Chacho with the grill. Turns out Karla was a registered nurse who now worked almost exclusively as a nurse/midwife. She had to work with doctors all the time, which was why Chacho thought we needed to talk.

I explained that I really wanted to be an epidemiologist and not the kind of doctor that saw patients and stuff. Despite that, she had some interesting things to say about the schooling and what you needed to do to get through it.

She asked where I planned to go to school and I told her about the deal with Columbia and Dr. Keller. She stopped and appraised me again.

“Michael said you were a sharp one,” she said. She seemed to approve.

“Okay, everyone,” Chacho called. “The tri-tip is ready. Paul, go get the folks from the front yard. Make sure the gate gets closed, okay?” A teenage boy said okay and ran around the house.

A long line of people with paper plates formed up on either side of the table. I hadn't thought I was that hungry, but as soon as I saw—and, more importantly, smelled—all that food, I was starving. I took just a little of everything, which still meant my plate was overflowing. Phil and I sat on the grass underneath a big shade tree with Chacho and his family. They managed to wrangle their boys over. Anthony I'd met at the store, and he recognized me enough to sit right down next to me and peer into my face until I smiled at him. Chacho's older boy, Tomas, barely looked at me before he ate a few bites and then ran off again. Anthony followed him because I guess that's what little brothers did.

“I'm sure they'll be hungry later,” Karla said as she watched them run off.

“Yeah,” Chacho said, “right before bedtime.”

They grinned at each other and it made me feel warm inside to see the two of them happy. It was sort of a weird feeling since I barely knew either of them.

“You two make beautiful babies,” I said. They both smiled at me. “No, seriously, you two could breed, like, an army of super handsome children.”

“We'll take that under advisement, Courtney,” Karla said. She turned to Chacho. “Did she tell you her news, Michael?”

“What news is that?” he asked around a mouthful of food.

I repeated the story about Columbia and Dr. Keller. Chacho looked impressed.

“No shit,” he said, and when Karla gave him a disapproving look, he didn't miss a beat and said, “No kidding. Well, that's great, Courtney. I'll be sorry to see you go, but I knew there was no way you'd be stuck in this town forever.”