Never Slow Dance with a Zombie

by E. Van Lowe

  Mrs. Mars was staring at me, her beady eyes boring into me. "Time's a wastin', Miss Johnson."

  I looked at the zombies. While they were afraid of Mrs. Mars, they were beginning to eye me like a meaty meat burger. So without another word, I zombie walked to the locker room and changed into my uniform.

  The state endurance exam consisted of four disciplines: abdominal strength, upper-body strength, endurance and flexibility, and aerobic capacity. For abdominal strength we did sit-ups, for flexibility we stretched, and for both endurance and aerobic

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  capacity we ran around the track. However, to build upper-body strength, Mrs. Mars subjected her classes to the most archaic exercise known to man--climbing the ropes.

  The ropes was an exercise probably invented in the sixteenth century by pirates, for their children to swing on to practice attacking ships. Unfortunately, Salesian is an old school, built way back in the days when teachers still thought of pirating as a viable occupation. Over time, most gym teachers had abandoned the exercise, but not Mrs. Mars. She must have gotten some sadistic pleasure from watching young, modern girls hoist themselves up to the ceiling on thick braided rope.

  As much as I hated all exercise, I found the ropes downright insulting. Talk about a useless discipline. When does a high-powered business executive ever need to climb ropes? Well Miss Hufferwinkle, your corporate responsibilities will consist of overseeing the World Trade Bank, managing the Trump portfolio, and, oh yes, the ropes. You do know how to climb the ropes, don't you? Ridiculous.

  Gym class that day was a grueling forty minutes of hell. Mrs. Mars ushered us out to the track, where we stretched and then zombie ran in a tight pack around the quarter-mile oval, with her yelling, "Pick it up!" and "Get the lead out!" for the entire period.

  On the bright side, I was able to observe a very important fact about zombies. They can't run no matter how hard they try. Even with Mrs. Mars spurring us on, the zombies moved stiffly around the track, their legs locked at the knees, their arms outstretched as if they were doing a bad imitation of Frankenstein. I thought back to my earlier crisis with the zombies in the corridor that morning.

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  Note to self: If you're ever in a tight spot with a zombie again--run.

  That night Sybil and I sat on the edge of my bed going over the events of the day, everything from the mouse incident to the grueling gym class--and let's not forget about lunch.

  "You know, I do believe I'm the best lunchroom monitor ever."

  Now that Sybil had some power I couldn't shut her up. She had become the lunchroom Nazi.

  "The cafeteria is usually so noisy you can't hear yourself think, but not with me on patrol. No siree. Have you ever heard the cafeteria so quiet?" She looked at me expectantly.

  "No," I replied. Do I point out that everyone in the cafeteria is a zombie, and that zombies don't talk? And that zombies by nature are predictably passive unless something dismpts their pattern? "You were great," I added.

  "Thank you very much," she said. A self-satisfied smile spread across her face. I should have left it at that and moved on to more important things. But my mouth had other plans.

  "1 didn't know being lunchroom monitor was such a big deal for you. When you first mentioned it I thought you were joking."

  The smile vanished. "Excuse me? Joking?" she said through tight lips.

  "I mean... lunchroom monitor. It's ... kind of... dorky."

  Her eyebrows pinched together; her lips turned down. "Why? Because you're not lunchroom monitor?"

  I knew if I kept going things would only get worse. Agree with her, agree with her, agree with her, agree with her. But instead I said, "Why would I want to be lunchroom monitor? Puh4eeze!"

  "Margot Jean Johnson, you just can't be happy for me, can you? I am always happy for you when you get things you want."

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  It was true. Sybil was always there rooting for me, cheering me on. And I was getting everything I'd ever wanted--Yearbook Committee, Homecoming Committee, head cheerleader, prom queen. It should have been enough. It should have been easy for me to be happy for her. She was a lunchroom monitor. We weren't competing. But the darkness that had risen inside me could only be happy for me.

  "That's because the things I want make sense," I heard myself say.

  She winced.

  "I mean... come on, Syb. Lunchroom monitor?"

  "I'm not just lunchroom monitor. I'm head lunchroom monitor. There's a difference!" she exclaimed. ' I have a larger vision here. You just can't see it yet,"

  I couldn't believe it. I was in my second fight with my best friend. I took several deep breaths.

  "Urn, uhh... Sorry," I said. "Head lunchroom monitor-- that's a big deal. I can't wait to see your vision." There! My mouth was finally back under my control.

  "You ought to be sorry," she snapped. She sat at the edge of the bed sulking. The damage had been done. It was too late for a mere apology.

  And now for a brief note about compliments: Everyone appreciates a good compliment: "Your hair looks lovely today." "My, how that new dress flatters your figure." But we girls take compliments to a whole new level. We live for them. And it doesn't matter if the person paying the compliment is lying and we know they're lying. All that matters is the compliment itself. We can't help ourselves. Compliments are our drug of choice.

  I faced Sybil and said, 'You're right. I am jealous. But can you blame me? You've whipped that cafeteria into amazing shape."

  Compliment.

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  "I did?"

  "Oh, yeah. And the look on your face when you're patrolling between the tables ... Wow."

  "Wow?" she repeated, trying to read my face, wondering if I was going to get her on the hook and then burst into laughter.

  "Double wow. And where did you get that little badge?"

  "I made it out of foil from gum wrappers." The corners of her mouth turned up into a small smile.

  "You made that? Wow again."

  Compliment!

  "You like it?"

  I nodded. "You're like the sheriff of the cafeteria." Well I wasn't going to sit there and call her the lunchroom Nazi~duh!

  Her smile broadened. "I was kinda cool today, wasn't I?"

  "Cool? You had those zombies eating out of your hand

  Well, not eating out of your hand because if they were eating out of your hand they'd probably eat your hand, but you know what I mean. I could never do that. Sorry," I said with even more sincerity.

  "It's okay, Margot. I understand." She patted my hand. "If you had become head lunchroom monitor I'd be jealous, too."

  I stifled a snort. Hurtful words were bubbling up inside me, another attack of verbal diarrhea rising in my throat. I jumped up. "Be right back," I managed to say.

  "Where are you going?"

  I didn't answer. I couldn't. My teeth were pressed firmly against my tongue. I pointed, grunted, and zombie walked to the bathroom. As I moved away I realized I needed to keep the dark thing inside me under control. No telling what kind of trouble I'd find myself in if I didn't.

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  Chapter Fourteenth

  With the end of the semester coming in six short weeks Sybil and I decided to forgo the homecoming event and instead hold a Winter Dance at the end of the semester.

  It would be a prom-like affair where we'd get dressed up and party the night away. And the girl who was crowned winter queen would be more than any ordinary prom queen. Her name would be etched in the annals of Salesian High School history forever, since there'd probably never be another one. And the best part--there were only two candidates. With Sybil still feeling guilty over the Dirk thing, I knew I was a shoo-in for the title.

  Take that, Amanda Culpepper.

  For the first time since seventh grade school was fun and exciting. I couldn't wait to get there each morning, and actually was sad when we went home at the end of the day. Classes were a breeze. The few teachers who remained were zombies. They growled
and moaned and scrawled illegibly on the board while we students sat quietly until the bell rang. After a

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  few days, however, this got boring, so Sybil and I began staying after school poring over our teachers' lesson plans with a thirst for knowledge that surprised us. We even gave ourselves homework. We didn't mind. As the new it-girls we deemed our education important. Never before had we studied so hard. Never before had our education seemed so precious. With learning no longer being rammed down our throats, Sybil and I took it upon ourselves to ram it down our own throats.

  One of our biggest kicks came from teasing the zombies. They were so gullible. One time we put a walkie-talkie in a student locker. Then we stood in a corner shouting taunts into another walkie: "Hey, you stupid zombie. Come on over here and bite me. I dare you." The zombies growled and groaned and angrily tore at the locker as we continued to taunt them. When they finally ripped it open we switched channels to another walkie in a different locker: "Hey, zombie, I'm over here now!" Priceless.

  We gossiped about other students: "Did you happen to notice Amanda Culpepper's mole lately? I do believe it's growing an Afro."

  "Did you get a whiff of her new cologne? Eau de Funky Armpits."

  In the past, we wouldn't dare gossip about Amanda for fear it might get back to her. But now that she was a zombie, she was the target of daily ridicule. It felt so good to have the shoe on the other foot.

  Sybil and I took turns giving the morning announcement each day from Principal Taft's office. Here's an example of one of mine:

  "Cheerleading practice will begin promptly at two forty-five in the gymnasium. No zombies allowed. The new cheer- leader

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  uniforms, designed by me, Margot Johnson, will be un veiled in two weeks. The best thing about these uniforms is that they are not made for rail-thin, anorexic-looking girls like you see in the fashion magazines. These amazing uniforms are designed for real girls, who know they look good without starving themselves to death. The cheerleading squad looks forward to seeing you all at the unveiling And remember, no zombies will be allowed."

  The "no zombie" rule was aimed squarely at Amanda.

  Here's one of Sybil's:

  "As you all know, lunch is the most important meal of the day. For this reason it is imperative that everyone move through the cafeteria in an orderly manner. Students will be seated by me. Any student, zombies included, not obeying the rules set forth by the head lunchroom monitor will be expelled from school for the rest of the semester. Thank you and have a nutritious day."

  Despite the lack of student participation, high school was shaping up to be everything I'd hoped for.

  My confidence was soaring. I was suddenly walking with my head held high. And with no one around to judge me I started wearing things I had once thought too risky to try under Amanda's watchful gaze: a black mini, a lime-green hoodie, brown suede boots with a spiked heel.

  I thought back to the dark days when I constantly obsessed over my thighs, my arms, my stomach. What a waste of energy to go through life constantly looking over your shoulder, wondering if Amanda approved of how you looked that day, or if she was laughing at you. But the tables had turned, and I no longer cared what Amanda thought. She was a zero, a cipher in the universe of opinions that mattered.

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  I was now Salesian's it-girl, the queen bee. Take that, Amanda Culpepper.

  A few days before Thanksgiving, Sybil and I were traveling in a pack of wannabe zombies when I noticed a pack of jock zombies heading toward us from the opposite direction. Amid the pack was Dirk Conrad.

  "Ooh, there's Dirk," said Sybil.

  We stared at him as the jock zombies slogged by. It was a sad sight. The left sleeve of his varsity jacket had been ripped off, obviously in some zombie skirmish, and the large embossed Knight's helmet that had proudly graced the right side of his chest hung on by a thread. His complexion was a hideous shade of green, and those once glacier-blue eyes were now crimson in color.

  Tan you believe we actually wanted to go out with him?'' Sybil shook her head sadly.

  "Yeah," I said. "Heh-heh. Imagine that."

  I'd been so caught up in my studies and committee work I hadn't thought about Dirk in weeks. But now that he was right here, less than twenty-five feet away, my feelings for him came rushing back. I stopped and eyed him as he continued down the hall. Then I did the strangest thing. I stepped from the pack.

  "What are you doing?" Sybil whispered nervously.

  A few slacker zombies hanging by the trophy case emerged from their catatonic stupor and zoned in on me.

  "I have to do this, Sybil," I said. "I'll see you later."

  "Do what?"

  My response was a glance in the direction of Dirk and the retreating zombies.

  "No," she said. "Come back."

  But I couldn't. I waved good-bye and watched as Sybil and

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  her pack continued down the hall. "Follow the pack," she called. "Margot, for heaven's sake follow the rules!"

  I looked on silently as they moved away. In a few moments they were out of sight, leaving me standing alone. Exposed.

  The zombies from the trophy case began staggering in my direction. But the danger they presented didn't matter. My high school manifesto flashed through my mind: / will have a boyfriend

  I stared up the corridor in the direction of the jock zombies moving away. I zeroed in on Dirk. The ripped varsity jacket now seemed a cool, hip fashion statement. His complexion wasn't hideous at all, but a deep, swarthy, sexy green. And his eyes weren't crimson, they were a gorgeous shade of ruby red.

  I will have a boyfriend.

  I took off after Dirk at a dead run, leaving the slow-moving zombies from the trophy case flailing at me as I zipped by. My plan? I didn't have one. My newfound status at school had gone to my head. I felt invincible. I was running toward a pack of zombies, headed into danger, and I didn't care. I had almost everything I'd ever wanted, and now my final desire was in my sight.

  I will have a boyfriend.

  I sped up the corridor toward Dirk and the zombies infused with the determination to have it all: popularity, parties, winter queen, and yes ... a boyfriend.

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  Chapter Fifteen

  A few years ago, when I was thirteen and my brother Theo eight, my father got the bright idea that the four of us should go on an exciting, fun-filled family vacation. Jamaica, you ask? Paris? Hawaii? Disney World? Don't be silly. While those are places any normal parent might find exciting, my father chose a week-long cattle drive vacation in Wyoming.

  "Wow!" Theo exclaimed as Dad popped the sales video into the VCR. Yes, you heard me, V-C-R. Don't ask. "Look!" Theo shrieked when horses and cows appeared on the screen. "That one has poop hanging out of its butt. That is so cool."

  "Well, it's so something," I said, looking on in horror. "If I'm not a laughingstock at school yet, I'm sure this is just the thing I need to push me over the top."

  For thirty long minutes, we watched families ride horses, herd cattle, eat grotesque-looking meals out of tin plates, and sleep in beds with blankets that appeared to be made of burlap. When the torturous video was finally over I asked my parents to

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  do me a giant favor and murder me in my sleep. I was as good as dead if we went on that trip. Mercifully, my request put an end to the idea of any family vacation in the Johnson household.

  Now, however, as I ran toward the jock zombies, something from that video played back in my mind:

  When herding cattle you sometimes need to cut a calf off from the herd.

  Suddenly I was grateful I hadn't walked out on the video or yanked it from the VCR and set it on fire. There was actually something instructional in that dumb sales video, and 1 was about to put it to use.

  The bell for fourth period had just rung, and sense memory sent most of the zombies in the corridor lumbering off to class. Only the trophy case zombies following me and the jocks in fron
t of me remained.

  "Hey, zombies!" I called as I neared the jocks. The jock zombies slowly turned, their hungry eyes falling on me. Great, I thought. I've got their attention. Ignoring the fact that I was surrounded, I stood my ground as the zombies in front of and behind slowly closed in.

  "That's it, fellas. Come to Mama."

  When the two groups were practically in striking distance I ducked into the girls' bathroom to my right, making sure I didn't move too quickly. Cutting--as I'd learned in the cattle drive video--was a delicate maneuver.

  The first part of the maneuver was to herd the cattle/zombies into a pen. I chose the large handicap stall in the girls' bathroom as my pen. I headed for the stall, making certain I didn't move too quickly. I needed to be just a few steps ahead of the slow-moving zombies. Once inside the stall, however, I moved at breakneck speed, hopping onto the commode,

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  boosting myself up and quickly over the side, making sure I was out before the zombies started in.

  The sluggish zombies began entering the stall.

  I zombie walked back around to the entrance of the stall, joining the pack, pretending to be one of them pushing to get at me. But in truth, I was shoving zombies into the stall, making certain Dirk wasn't one of the zombies going in. Then, after all the zombies but Dirk were in, I slammed shut the stall door, jamming it with a wad of chewing gum. The zombies inside were too busy pushing forward to realize their escape route was behind them.

  I turned to Dirk, who had successfully been cut from the pack. A soft moan emanated from deep in his chest.

  "Mmmmmmmph."