Chapter 15

“Alex?” I ask, taking the desk chair next to his. “You’ve been pretty quiet since the ‘big reveal,’ any thoughts.”

There is a moment, just then, with the other three kids texting away, fully occupied, where I imagine Alex to be the boy I’ve always dreamed of; a Normal who could accept me, for who I am – for what I am.

I play it all out in a millisecond, every inch of it unfolding; as if I’m seeing the future.

He will hold me, not caring if I’m cold; he will cling to me, not caring who sees.

His warm breath will caress my cold ears and he will tell me everything he’s always wanted to say; everything I’ve always wanted to hear.

He will confess that yesterday, when I stopped by the oil drums outside of shop class and we talked, and asked, and answered, and laughed, was the best day of his life.

He will say something like, if not exactly like, “Lucy, I don’t care if you had three heads and six arms and four butt cheeks, I don’t care if you’re as cold as my refrigerator turned up to 10, I don’t care if French kissing you tastes like tongue wrestling an ice spider, I don’t care if you turn my Dad’s Jacuzzi tub into an ice bath, I don’t care if you still look 17 when I’m 97 and you have to change my diapers – in fact, come to think of it, I’d prefer to have my diapers changed by a nubile young teenager – I don’t care if we break every single zombie law, I want to get with you, be with you and stay with you, no matter what.”

And I’m not sure why I’m so surprised when it doesn’t… quite… happen that way.

When, in fact, just the opposite happens.

“Thoughts?” he finally spits, just above a whisper, sliding over slightly on the wheels stuck to the bottom of his chair.

They make more noise than he does.

His eyes aren’t just cold, suddenly they’re… cruel.

“Which thoughts do you want to hear, Lucy? My thoughts on you being a zombie? My thoughts about how I feel about sitting next to a zombie, every day, in Chorus? My thoughts about almost… almost… asking you to the Fall Formal next week? My thoughts about you lying to me, every day, for the last three years? My thoughts about—”

“Hold up, hold up,” I stop him, ignoring the hurt look in his eyes, the anguished tone in his voice, the way his big pale hands are trembling on the arms of his chair. “YOU were going to ask ME to the Fall Formal next week? But Piper told me you had already asked her?”

“Piper?” he snorts. “Piper Madison? What am I, some kind of masochist? I barely know that chick and, what I do know, frankly, scares me. Even more than YOU being a ZOMBIE scares me. And, trust me Lucy, that scares me A LOT!”

I ignore the jab and press, “So, you mean to tell me, Piper Madison doesn’t pick you up every morning for school?”

“What? Gawd no. I ride my bike to school, if you must know, just like I have every day since freshman year. After the divorce, you know, Dad had to cut back on expenses, to afford the alimony. So… tuna casseroles every Thursday is his way of cutting back; riding a bike to school – even though I know it’s social suicide – is mine. Piper Madison? Where did you ever hear a thing like that?”

I shake my head.

How could I let her get to me like that?

Bother me like that?

How could I ever believe Piper for one frickin’ second?

I look at Alex and he seems hurt, confused and… well, just plain hurt.

I ignore Piper for the moment and say, “Alex, I’m… I’m sorry you had to find out this way but…”

“But what, Lucy? Chorus, three years, five days a week, 45 minutes a day, us talking, flirting, that whole time and not once, not ever, did you even drop a hint that you’re… that you’re… the Living Dead?”

I sigh.

“What did you want me to do, Alex? Scare off the only cool guy I’ve gone to school with in years? Decades, even? What would you have done if I’d walked into Chorus that first day as a freshman, gone straight up to you and said, ‘Him, I’m Lucy and I’m a zombie.’ You would have done what every other guy I’ve ever told has done; run the other way without looking back.”

He shrugs. “I guess so, yeah but… would you blame me?”

“No, but… do you blame me, I mean, now that you know? Look at you; you’ve known me for three years and suddenly you’re ready to disown me just because I’m a… zombie. It doesn’t change anything, Alex; it doesn’t change what’s inside.”

He slides over even further.

“Doesn’t change anything?” he asks, his chair darting across the tiny room and into Roger’s wide hips as he stands and grabs his backpack. “It. Changes. Everything.”

What?

He’s leaving?

Now?

Just when I need him the most?

I stand, too, keeping pace even though he’s faster, taller and leaner than me.

“Where are you going, Alex?”

“Going?” he spits, reaching for the door. “I’m going as far away from you as possible.”

“Hey, Alex,” grunts Roger as he stands up.

I hold up a hand and he sits back down.

“You can’t do that, Alex,” I say firmly, getting in between him and the door.

His eyes bulge a little but he keeps it real for the nerds.

“So, what, I’m a hostage now?” he asks, puffing his non-existent chest out, acting cocky.

“I thought you understood, Alex, we’re at war here. It’s nice and cozy and all plans and text messages for now but, eventually, we’re all going to have to face an elite team of zombie killers after school and I need you, Alex.”

“Me?” he spits, his face recoiling into something stiff and strange, making him look distant and cold and… dare I say… ugly. (At least, temporarily so.) “I wouldn’t help you if it was the last thing I ever did.”

Oh.

Ow.

Ouch.

That.

Frickin’.

Hurts.

I step back because it’s hard to believe this sweet, green-eyed, curly-haired kid who I’ve talked to every single frickin’ school day for three straight years could turn so fast, so suddenly, so… completely.

And he’s quick, too quick in the space of my dead, broken heart.

He already has the door open by the time I grab for his rugby shirt, which I manage just to snag the part that hangs over his belt loop and it holds, just for a second, then rips, letting him go into the swirl of kids as the bell rings and 2nd period swirls into 3rd.

Roger joins me at the door, breathing heavy just from the six steps it took him to cross the room, and Tara joins him and we step out into the halls, into the swirl, but already the word is out, the mood has changed and the kids who merely looked at me in homeroom with curiosity and just a little whimsy this morning now stare daggers as Alex zigs and zags through the crowd, his lovely dirty blond curls a head higher than most of the kids, quickly lost before we can even follow and grab him.

“Great!” I spit, as I grab Roger and Tara and drag them back into class before anymore probing eyes can find out where I’ve been hiding all morning.

“It’s just Alex,” sighs Fiona from her chair, where she hasn’t even bothered to get up. “He’ll be back.”

And with Roger inside, with Tara beside him, with the door closed at our backs I turn to her and say, no longer trying to be brave and hide my fear, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”