Why I Quit Zombie School

by R. L. Stine

  “Come on,” I said, pulling them by the hand. “Breakfast. You have to see this.”

  “I don’t think so,” Mom said. “We had a big breakfast before we left.”

  “Let’s just wander around a bit,” Dad said. “Show us what you’ve done to your room.”

  “No. Breakfast,” I insisted. “You don’t have to eat. I just want you to see it.”

  They both shrugged. I led the way upstairs. I knew when they saw the zombie kids eating, they’d have to believe me.

  As soon as we reached the second floor, I could smell the food. For breakfast, the cooks serve huge vats of nearly raw eggs, pots of bacon fat, big gray pancakes that tasted like dirt, and fruit plates piled up with brown fruits that must have decayed ten years ago.

  The zombie kids lap it up. I usually had a bowl of Frosted Flakes with milk — unless they were serving sour milk that day. Then, I ate the cereal with orange juice.

  “Mmmmm. Smells good,” Dad said, sniffing the air. “Reminds me of my school days.”

  “It won’t,” I said. I pushed open the double doors for them. “Come on in. See how zombies eat.”

  I led them inside. I glanced around. Perfect. At the first table, a boy was shoving raw eggs into his mouth with both hands. He had egg yolk all over his face.

  Near the back, some guys were tossing a gray pancake back and forth like a Frisbee. Two girls were shoving black sausages into their mouths as fast as they could.

  I turned to Mom and Dad. They were watching the whole thing with shocked expressions on their faces.

  “See?” I said eagerly. “See?”

  Then they both started laughing.

  “Nothing ever changes,” Mom said.

  Dad shook his head. “We were much worse,” he said. “Wow. I remember the incredible food fights we used to have. The whole lunchroom would be covered in slop.”

  “Kids will always be kids,” Mom said. “Just look at them.”

  “But — but — but —” I sputtered. “Don’t you see? These aren’t normal kids. They —”

  “Of course they are,” Dad said. He tugged my arm and guided me to the doors. “What could be more normal? Come on. Let’s go. Mom and I want to see your room.”

  “Take us around the school. Give us the full tour,” Mom said.

  I sighed. So far, I was a total failure. How could I convince them they were in a zombie school?

  This was my only chance to prove I wasn’t making up a horror story. I had to convince them. My life depended on it.

  I led them upstairs past the Study Room. Through the glass door, I could see zombie kids studying in there, tapping away on their laptops.

  Angelo wandered past. He waved and called out my name.

  “A new friend?” Mom asked.

  “He’s on the soccer team,” I said. “But if he finds out I’m alive, he’ll probably kill me.”

  The bell rang overhead just as I said that. Mom and Dad didn’t hear me.

  “I like the calm atmosphere here,” Dad said. “Everyone moves so slowly. No one is in a hurry. It’s a very relaxed place.”

  “Dad, they’re moving slowly because they’re undead,” I said. “That’s as fast as they can move.”

  They both laughed.

  “You’re not convincing us,” Mom said. She glanced at her watch. “You don’t have much time left to show us your proof.”

  “I know,” I said.

  We stepped into the Center Court in the middle of the school. I looked up at the balcony. And suddenly I knew.

  I knew I was going to convince my parents this was a zombie school.

  They were about to see the proof with their own eyes.

  19

  A few kids gathered in the court. They moved in front of us. They all had their eyes on the balcony.

  A few seconds later, a girl peered over the railing. She had short blond hair tied in pigtails. She wore a black sweater over black jeans.

  “Watch,” I told my parents. I motioned to the balcony. “Just watch this. It’s going to be horrible. But maybe you’ll believe me.”

  The girl started to pull herself up to the top of the balcony wall.

  “Oh. Hey,” Dad said. He fumbled in his pants pocket. He pulled out his phone. “Oh. Sorry. I have a call.”

  He started to raise the phone to his ear. But it slipped out of his hand.

  The phone hit the hard floor with a clang.

  The blond-haired girl leaped off the balcony and hit the floor. She thudded heavily, and she bounced twice before landing in a heap.

  “Did you see —?” I started. Then I gasped.

  Both of my parents had their backs turned. They were both bending over to pick up Dad’s phone.

  “I’ll bet it was Jamie,” Dad said. He grabbed the phone and studied it.

  “Is it okay? Did it break?” Mom asked.

  “Didn’t you see her jump!” I screamed. “Didn’t you see what just happened?”

  Dad squinted at the phone screen. “It seems to be okay,” he said.

  “Check the call log,” Mom said. “Was that Jamie calling?”

  I totally lost it. I started screaming my head off. “That girl jumped off the balcony!” I cried. “Didn’t you see her?”

  Kids turned to look at me. I realized it was dangerous to scream.

  “Where?” Mom asked. “Who jumped? Where?”

  I pointed. The blond-haired girl was climbing to her feet. She brushed off the front of her sweater. She started to walk away.

  “She couldn’t have jumped,” Mom said. “Look. She’s walking away. Why would you say such a crazy thing?”

  “Matt, it’s time to drop the whole zombie thing,” Dad said. “We gave you a chance. Now it’s just getting tired.”

  I failed again. Failed. Failed. Failed.

  I wanted to jump up and down and scream and throw myself into the wall and — and —

  Wait. One last try. One last chance to save my life.

  I knew who could help me. I knew who could convince them.

  My parents wouldn’t listen to me. But they would listen to Franny.

  Franny. The only other living kid in this school.

  Franny would tell them this is a zombie school. And they would believe her.

  Now where could I find her? She could be anywhere.

  And then I nearly cried out when I saw Franny step into the court. She wore a red-and-black Romero sweatshirt over a short black skirt. She had a bulging backpack on her shoulders.

  I guessed she was headed to the Study Room upstairs.

  “Franny! Hey!” I took off, running through the crowded circle of kids. “Franny!”

  She turned and waited for me. “Matt, what’s up?”

  “Did your parents come?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Not this time. Yours?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I want you to meet them. I want you to tell them —”

  “Tell them?” Franny said.

  I turned. My parents had followed me across the hall. Dad was texting someone on his phone. Mom smiled at Franny.

  “This is Franny. She’s in my class,” I said.

  Mom and Dad said hi. Dad frowned at the phone and tucked it into his pants pocket.

  “Have you been at Romero long?” Mom asked her.

  “This is my second year,” Franny said. She shifted her backpack on her shoulders.

  “I’ve been trying to tell my mom and dad about this school,” I told Franny. “But they don’t believe me.”

  She giggled. “Really?”

  Dad rolled his eyes. “You’re not starting this stuff again, are you? In front of your friend?”

  “Tell them,” I said to Franny. “Go ahead. Tell them the truth about this school. They won’t believe me — but they’ll believe you.”

  Franny squinted at me. “The truth?”

  “Yes,” I insisted. “Go ahead. Tell them what’s special about this school.”

  Franny raised her eyes to the ce
iling, as if she was thinking hard. She took a deep breath. Finally, she started. “Well …”

  20

  “I guess the library is really special,” Franny said. “It’s open twenty-four hours a day, and they have thousands of books. And tons of computers with a very fast connection.”

  “That’s nice,” Mom said with a smile.

  “And the Dining Hall is pretty special,” Franny added.

  I groaned. “Franny, you know that’s not what I meant.” My heart was pounding. I wanted to explode. Why was she doing this?

  “Tell my parents about the zombies!” I screamed.

  Several kids turned to stare at me.

  Franny scrunched up her face. “Zombies?”

  “Tell them what you told me,” I begged. “You know. That this is a zombie school. That you and I are the only living kids here.”

  Franny laughed. “Matt, tell me you didn’t believe me,” she said. “I was joking. You know. A joke for the new kid in school.”

  Dad slapped my shoulder. “Guess we won’t be hearing about that anymore,” he said. “Thank you, Franny.”

  “But — but —” I sputtered.

  Franny turned to the door. “I have to go study,” she said. She grinned. “You know. Meet up with the other zombies and maybe rip some live flesh while we do our math.”

  Mom and Dad laughed.

  I could feel my face go red-hot. I mean, my blood was boiling.

  Franny took a few steps, then turned back. “Matt, are you coming to the dance party after all the parents leave tonight?” she called.

  “Party?” I could barely get the word out. I felt so angry and upset, I was shaking. “I don’t think so,” I replied.

  Franny waved good-bye to my parents. Then she hurried away.

  “You should go to the party,” Mom said. “You’ve got to stop living in your own world, Matt.”

  I didn’t answer. My head was still burning hot. My hands were balled into tight fists.

  “You’ve got to make friends here and try to fit in,” Dad said.

  Fit in? That’s a laugh. Fit in with a school full of zombies. For sure.

  “Franny seems nice,” Mom said.

  Nice? She’s a liar and a traitor, I thought.

  She was my last chance. And now I was doomed. Trapped in this school with the living dead. Trapped here — until the kids discovered I was alive. And then they’d make me undead, too.

  “What are you thinking about?” Mom asked.

  I shrugged. “I’m thinking I should show you my room. I made it very cool,” I said.

  I tried to act “normal” for the rest of the day. I didn’t mention zombies. How could I?

  Parents Day was one of the longest days of my life. I couldn’t really talk to my parents at all. I just kept thinking about how I was DOOMED.

  Finally, that evening, I said good-bye to Mom and Dad on the front steps of the school. I promised I would go to the dance party and tell them all about it.

  Then I hugged them and watched them walk to their car. A wave of sadness rolled over me. I knew it would probably be the last time I ever saw them.

  I didn’t want to go to any party. I wanted to run to my room, lock the door, and hide under the bed.

  But before I could do that, I had to find Franny. I had to find out why she lied to my parents. Why she refused to save my life.

  I found her upstairs in her room. She and her roommate, Marcia, were in front of the mirror,

  doing each other’s hair, getting ready for the party.

  I barged in without knocking. “Why?” I demanded. My voice came out higher and shriller than I’d planned. “Why? Just tell me why!”

  Both girls turned to me.

  “What’s your problem?” Marcia asked.

  “I’m not talking to you,” I said. “Franny knows what I’m talking about.” I put my hands on my hips and waited for Franny to answer me.

  She turned to Marcia. “He’s the new kid and he has issues,” she said.

  Marcia made a face. “Issues? What does that mean?”

  “He’s crazy,” Franny replied.

  She tugged me out into the hall. A lot of kids were already heading to the party in the gym. She pulled me into an empty room.

  “Matt, are you totally losing it?” she said in a harsh whisper.

  “Why didn’t you tell my parents the truth?” I demanded. “Why didn’t you tell them this is a zombie school, and you and I are the only living kids?”

  She put a finger on my lips to hush me up.

  “I want to stay alive. That’s why,” she said. “Matt, there were at least a dozen kids listening to us talk to your parents this morning. Didn’t you see them?”

  “No,” I said. “I —”

  “I couldn’t talk in that crowd,” Franny said. “I couldn’t tell your parents the truth. If I did, we’d both be undead by now. I’m serious.”

  I stared at her. “You could have saved my life.”

  She shook her head. “No way. Those kids were listening, Matt. They wouldn’t let you leave the school with your parents. They would have gotten to you before you stepped out the door.”

  I opened my mouth to speak but no words came to me.

  “They are watching you, Matt,” Franny said. “I think they are starting to suspect.”

  That sent a chill to the back of my neck.

  “You don’t understand how much danger you are in,” she said.

  “You’re not cheering me up,” I said.

  It was kind of a joke, but she didn’t laugh. “Just be careful,” she said. “Listen to me. At the party tonight, be very careful.”

  If only I had listened to her …

  21

  My parents told me to go to the party and try to fit in. What a joke.

  I didn’t want to fit in with the kids in this school. I kind of wanted to be alive.

  But Franny convinced me I had to go. She said if I didn’t go to the party, kids would wonder why I wanted to be different.

  “I can do this,” I told myself. I figured if Franny could play dead and fool everyone, I could, too.

  I pulled on a fairly clean pair of faded cargo jeans and a black pullover shirt. Then I pawed through my horror collection.

  I was looking for something the other kids might think was funny. You know. Something to convince these zombies that I was a good guy.

  I pulled out the perfect thing. A human hand. Actually, it was made of rubber. But it looked very real.

  I turned it over in my hands a few times. I decided I could probably make kids laugh with it. So I tucked it into my jeans pocket and headed to the gym for my first party at Romero.

  I don’t know what I expected. Maybe black crepe streamers on the ceiling. Black candles. Gravestones for decoration. Music by the Grateful Dead.

  I pushed open the gym doors and gazed inside. It looked like a normal party.

  Red balloons bobbed overhead. Kids hung out around a long food table against one wall. Some kids sat in the bleachers, talking and laughing.

  A few girls danced together to loud music in the center of the floor. Some boys leaned against the wall, watching them.

  I strode quickly across the floor — then stopped. I remembered what Franny had said. Not too fast.

  I took a few lurching steps. I pretended to stumble. Then I staggered toward the food table.

  I could see kids in the bleachers watching me. I hoped my zombie walk looked real to them.

  Slow, Matt. Keep it slow.

  I waved to Marcia, Franny’s roommate. She stared back at me. I don’t think she liked me. Maybe she suspected I didn’t belong in this school.

  I wondered if she suspected Franny, too.

  I spotted Angelo and Mikey and some of the other soccer players at the food table. They held big hunks of red meat in their hands. They were stuffing their faces, gobbling and swallowing so loudly, I could hear them above the pounding music.

  I lurched toward them, remembering t
o stagger and stumble. I was halfway across the gym floor when Mikey suddenly erupted.

  A hoarse honking sound burst from his throat like a blast from a tuba. His eyes went wide. He grabbed his throat with both hands.

  Mikey staggered crazily over the floor, making frightening honking, bleating sounds. It took me a few seconds to realize he was choking on a big hunk of raw meat.

  Angelo stepped up behind Mikey and pounded him hard on the back.

  Mikey made a sickening ULLLLLP sound.

  Angelo pounded his back again. A few kids gasped as Mikey’s big pink tongue came flying out.

  The tongue sailed several feet. Then it hit the gym floor and bounced once or twice.

  I gaped at it in horror. My stomach tightened into a knot.

  The tongue was moving!

  It wiggled on the hardwood floor.

  No one screamed. No one made a sound.

  Mikey stopped choking. He bent down and picked up his tongue in one hand. Then he hurried out of the gym, carrying it carefully in front of him.

  I made my way to Angelo. “Mikey’s tongue —” I choked out. I couldn’t keep the alarm from my voice.

  Angelo waved his hand. “He’ll be okay,” he said. “He does that all the time.”

  My stomach was doing flip-flops. I kept picturing the tongue wiggling all by itself on the gym floor. But I tried to act normal.

  Angelo offered me a huge chunk of red meat. “Snack?” he asked.

  It smelled rotten. I forced myself not to make a disgusted face or back away.

  “No, thanks,” I said. “I had that for dinner.”

  He blinked at me. “You coming to practice Monday?”

  I nodded. “For sure.”

  Angelo grinned and pumped his fist in the air. “The Vultures are going to kill this year!” he cried. “Kill, kill, KILL!”

  “Yeah. Kill,” I repeated.

  The music changed. Some kids shouted: “Time for the Stomp! Everyone! Do the Stomp!”

  I watched in surprise as everyone formed a line across the gym floor. The music pounded, and everyone started a weird, stomping dance.

  Two girls I didn’t know pulled me into the line. They stomped their feet, then shuffled to one side. Then they stomped some more and slid the other way.