“This is what you watch?”
“So?”
I read the first name aloud.
“BloodScene: The Crime Intuiter.”
“That’s a good one,” Trish said. “He wears rubber gloves and spots stuff other people missed.”
I threw the TV Guide on the floor. “So, did you hear what I said?”
Trish covered her face. “I’m tired. You know how sometimes you’re so tired, even your bones ache?”
“Um, not really. Listen, can we get in the car and drive around and look for Sophie? I think she’s really upset. As you may have noticed, she’s been acting a little erratically lately, and…”
Trish laughed. The TV laughed with her.
“Okay, erratic for a while now? I’d go look for her myself, but I’m still unlicensed to drive. You promised to fill out my permit paperwork a year ago?”
Trish covered her face. “I’ve been waiting for this.”
“Waiting for what?”
“It changed your metabolism. You were never heavy as a child.”
“Huh?”
“He swore there would be no side effects.”
“What are you talking about, Mom?”
“Your arm? Does it itch?”
I looked down. The moon-shaped scar at the crook of my elbow not only itched, it throbbed.
“Mom, this is starting to freak me out. Should we maybe even call the police? Or should maybe you, since I’m a minor?”
“You’ll be eighteen soon enough,” Trish said, the back of her wrist against her forehead, staring at the ceiling. I wondered if she’d finally completely lost it. I wondered if I’d have to call an ambulance. I wondered if I’d have to go into foster care. I wondered what Destruktor-Bot would do.
The phone rang. I picked it up. A man with a deep voice said, “Put your mother on the line, fatty.”
I looked at the receiver for a minute.
“Just do it,” the booming voice said. I handed it to Trish, who held it away from her ear.
“Yes?”
“Officer Goethe here.”
Trish laughed. “Oh, it’s you, is it?”
“I’ve got some business to handle, and then I’m coming over.”
“You’ll do no such thing.”
“I’ll be right there,” he said, and hung up.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SOPHIE AND AARON
GIMME A CHEROOT AND A .22 DERRINGER, AND I’M STRAIGHT
We lay on the grassy hill overlooking the senior parking lot. All the buses were gone, all the students gone. No sign of Lake or Trish or O.S.
“Maybe he really does. Just want to give us a ride,” Aaron whispered.
Below us, Larry was walking around his sedan, doing something to the locks in the backseat. Then he rearranged what looked like rolls of duct tape in the trunk.
“Yeah, it’s just a coincidence he’s pretending to be a janitor,” I whispered, pretending not to be terrified. “Maybe later on he’s going to make duct tape animals for the kids at the children’s hospital.”
Aaron’s eyes closed to slits. The freckles at his temples faded into his hairline.
“You think I’m just being paranoid,” I said.
Aaron shook his head nervously. “That’s not true.” He put his hand on the small of my back, sneaking it up between my jeans and the bottom of my shirt like he knew things had gotten too weird not to go for broke. And he was right. His hand was warm and reassuring. As a reward, I leaned over and kissed him. His lips were soft and dry. He seemed shocked at first and then kissed me back, pushing too hard. We clanked teeth.
“I don’t think you’re paranoid at all,” he said, rubbing his lip. “You’ve got more reason to wig out. Than anyone I know. But you say this crazy stuff sometimes, like, for effect. And you expect people to just accept it, without bothering to explain.”
I wanted to be annoyed, but he was right. I didn’t have any answers, just a huge duffel bag full of questions.
“How do you know what I expect?” I finally said.
“I’ve been watching you. Remember? I’ve seen you in action.”
“Watching me?” I said, pulling him by the neck. “You perv. Maybe you’re more like Larry that I thought.”
He looked horrified, so I kissed him again. I couldn’t believe it. Not Aaron and Kirsty Verlaine. Not Aaron and Kirsty Branca. Him and me. I so totally wished Lake could see. She’d never believe it.
Aaron pulled back, catching his breath. “I still don’t understand why he’d take the time. To pretend. Being a janitor. I mean, how would he get into the school? Wouldn’t people notice? This huge guy standing around?”
His fingers were splayed across my stomach. It was hard to think. His pinkie was in my belly button.
“Yes. No. I mean, to get something from me, is why.”
“Get what?”
“It’s going to sound stupid.”
“We’re on a hill. Looking down at some dude with orange hair. Ready to chauffeur us. To a place where you need a whole lot of duct tape. I think you can probably go ahead and say it.”
“A comic book.”
Aaron laughed. Larry looked up, and we ducked our heads. I counted to ten and then peeked out again. Larry was looking at his watch, tapping his foot.
“It’s not funny,” I whispered. “Our house has been broken into at least six times in the last year. I’d bet anything Larry, I mean Officer Goethe, was the one who did it. They’ve been looking for something. And I think that’s what they’ve been looking for.”
Aaron seemed concerned, but I couldn’t tell if it was about the break-ins or my mental health. “So now what?”
“We don’t go anywhere with Janitor Clown Wig. We need to find another way to the lab.”
“As in your father’s lab? Isn’t it all closed up?”
I was two inches from Aaron’s face. The stubble on his chin had chafed my cheeks. No matter what I said, he probably wasn’t going to believe me. He was on the team. Zac Grace was his best friend. That was enough to get out of any jam, win a couple of trophies and you’re immune to the world.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to practice? Maybe you should just go.”
He shook his head. “I’ll get reamed by Coach Dhushbak. Either way. I might as well take my medicine tomorrow.”
“If there’s a tomorrow.”
“Okay, Sunshine,” he laughed. Beneath us, Officer Goethe slammed his car door and jogged back into school.
“He’s going in to look for us,” I said. “Now’s our chance.”
We did a sort of Navy Seal crouch down the hillside until we were alongside the sedan. There was no way Larry would have been dumb enough to leave the keys in the ignition, was there?
There wasn’t.
“We’re walking?” Aaron said. “The lab is, like, miles. From here.”
“Then we better get started,” I said, keeping my head low as we ducked between cars and ran toward the main road. “Especially since we need to make a quick stop first.”
An hour later, we were standing on a cement island in a busy two-lane street.
“We’re never going to get there,” Aaron said.
It was hot and we were both sweating. We’d barely made it halfway to the center of town, mostly because of all the time we spent hiding behind trees when anything that looked like Larry’s sedan was coming.
“It’s true,” I said. “It’s time for drastic measures.”
“It is?”
I crossed my arms and stood in a way I thought seemed worldly. “I keep asking myself, if there are no rules, why am I playing by the rules?”
“That’s a bumper sticker,” he said. “What does it mean?”
I’d been thinking about it during the walk. Maybe I was crazy, maybe not. Maybe the vacuum store really did exist, or maybe I was just here, in an even more believable scenario, holding Aaron’s hand while we ran from an evil janitor. Either way, why was I going with the program? Write me an
essay, go to detention, sit up in your room and be scared and just take it. Take it in school, take it from Trish, take it from Dad. Sit there and draw like a good little girl and pretend nothing’s wrong.
Well, something was wrong. Really wrong. I’d spent an entire year waiting around for someone else to show up and make it right. If I wasn’t crazy, I was at least justified to act like I was. And if I was crazy, it didn’t matter what I did, because it was all in my head. I’d had a free pass all along.
“Stay here,” I said.
I walked across the street, looking for a convenience store, but came to a bank first. The guard smiled and held the door for me. He was young and cute. I slapped his face. Not very hard, but hard enough. As he held his cheek, I slid the gun from his holster, which was Western and elaborately tooled. I motioned to the floor.
“Safety’s on,” he said.
“No, it isn’t,” I said, and squeezed the trigger, guessing right. The gun fired a shot into the far wall. Everyone froze. The barrel snapped back and nearly clonked me in the head. I motioned to the floor again, my hands vibrating, and this time the guard got into a crouch.
“Sorry,” I whispered as he lay facedown. “Total emergency.”
The teller was a woman with a tight bun.
“Money,” I told her loudly. “Put all the cash in your drawer into a bag, don’t press anything, don’t do anything, no dye packs or alarms or fake bills.” It was a speech straight out of every heist movie. I swept the gun in a wide arc and fired a few rounds into the ceiling. My ears rang. People screamed. Some lady moaned. Her necklace broke, and dozens of pearls rolled across the floor. The teller pushed a plastic bag toward me.
I grabbed a huge handful of bills and threw them in the air.
“Quick, everybody, take it before the police get here!”
As some people started to gather the bills, I stepped over the security guard and whispered, “You’re sorta cute. You should have asked for my phone number.”
A block away, sirens went off. I walked back to where Aaron was standing, looking pissed and confused at the same time. He pointed at the bag.
“Please tell me you didn’t just do. What I totally think you just did.”
“We can afford a cab now,” I said.
“Listen to me,” he said. “No matter what’s wrong, we can…”
I saw something glinting over his shoulder. “Wait here again.”
Across the street, Coach Dhushbak was sitting in his convertible, finishing dinner. He tossed an empty Sour White onto the curb, tightened his mesh driving gloves, and zipped up his red leather jacket. Sunglasses were perched on the top of his head. He looked at me, licked his lips, and burped.
“Gothika? Why aren’t you in school?”
“School’s over,” I said.
He frowned and popped up his collar. “You want a ride? Hop in. We’ll go straight to detention.”
“I do want a ride,” I said. “Just not with you.”
“Excuse me?”
“Get out. I’m driving.”
“No way.” Coach Dhushbak laughed. “No one drives my car. Especially not a—”
I leveled the gun at his hairline. The sirens were really going off now.
“Keys,” I said.
I pulled a U-turn, gunned it down the street, and chirped up to the curb, where Aaron was practically growing a bald spot. “Need a ride, sailor?”
He looked at the bag of money in back, which had opened and spilled everywhere, and then at me. I revved the engine.
“I don’t understand. Weren’t we just—?”
“I’ll explain on the way,” I said. “Hop in.”
“Not like this. Not unless you—”
I put the car in gear. “Unless I what? Didn’t you see your picture in that article, too?”
“Yeah, I saw it,” he said. “I just thought I was. Getting to know you.”
“You don’t know me at all.”
His eyes looked hurt. I pointed to my chest with the gun, and he winced.
“What you like today will probably be different tomorrow. Or in five minutes. It’s all just a stupid game. Spin the wheel, win a prize. Except there is no prize.”
“That’s the lipstick talking,” he said. “The role you play. Scare everyone at school so you don’t have to take a chance on getting too close.”
I stared at him. His resigned face and almond-shaped eyes. I shouldn’t have brought him this far. Then again, he shouldn’t have wanted to come.
“You can get in or not.”
He looked back at the bank, where the police were now in crouching positions behind fenders and car doors, pointing their guns at the big plateglass window and telling people to come out with their arms up. The security guard was trying to explain something, but they weren’t listening. Coach Dhushbak was yelling and waving his arms and pointing at us, until one of the cops stood and cuffed him.
Aaron slid in beside me.
“To be honest?” I said. “I didn’t think you were going to—”
“Shut up and drive,” he said.
I stomped the gas. The red convertible roared down Main Street. We needed to get on the highway, but I wasn’t sure where the entrance was.
“Cops,” Aaron said, craning his neck. “Behind us.”
Sirens twirled. Two cruisers pulled into chase formation. I slowed down, signaling like I was going to pull over.
“Thank God,” Aaron said, opening the glove compartment to look for the registration. Instead, he pulled out a handful of porno mags.
“That’s Dhushbak,” I said, and tossed the magazines in the air, one of them centerfolding onto the cop’s windshield with a breasty slap, causing him to nail a stop sign. Aaron gripped the dashboard. We zoomed by some enormous guy jogging on the side of the road who sort of looked like Kenny. I almost laughed. Kenny. Jogging.
“Please stop,” Aaron said.
“We need some music,” I said, flipping the dial until I found a radio station playing “In the Hallway” by Perv Idols. “I saw you by locker numbah twelve, so hot, so right, so fine tonight, but baby baby baby, do you know my com-bi-na-tion…?”
The sirens closed in as we came to a long straightaway. The wind howled in my ears. We were up over a hundred, the horizon and the sky beginning to blur. We caught a little air over a rise, the music jangling.
“Oh, no.”
“After all this, there’s an oh, no?”
“Hold my hand,” I said.
Aaron shrugged. Our fingers entwined.
“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” I said, flooring it even harder. “Maybe we’ll spin the big wheel and land on Brad and Angelina.”
Aaron nodded, with complete acceptance of my insanity. “I’m not that into adoption.”
A hundred ten. A hundred twenty.
The Popsicle Man’s grill loomed, glinting in the sun, before slamming into us with a long, broken, tearing sound, completely, utterly, and directly head-on.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE RELUCTANT LEADER
IT’SONLYADREAM IT’SONLYADREAM IT’SONLYADREAM. I THINK
You brought a friend?”
“I guess.”
“That’s not supposed to happen,” Mr. Puglisi said.
“Just let me spin and get it over with,” I said, reaching for a can of Sour White as the wheel clicked to a stop. ZOMBIE FREAK-OUT.
“You gotta be kidding me.”
I opened my eyes as the first one came shuffling through the senior parking lot. It bumped against a station wagon, bounced off, and stared dumbly at the sun. No one paid much attention, but I knew exactly what it was. The thing approached a pair of sophomore girls smoking by the rear stairwell. It bit the first girl on the arm. The other girl watched, amazed. She might even have laughed. Then the thing bit her, too, and she stopped laughing. I raised my hand. Miss Last pursed her lips, writing on the board with a piece of squeaky chalk. The two girls now lay in the grass. By the time Miss Last wrote Coriolis and Boreal
is the girls were shuffling like groupies behind the thing. I stood up.
Miss Last swept back her tinted bangs and released a detention-esque sigh. “Yes, Sophie?”
“Um… there’s a zombie? No, three zombies. Right outside.”
Every head in the class turned, but no one said a word. Miss Last did not say a word. Bryce Ballar, for once, did not say a word.
Aaron, at the desk next to me, leaned over and hissed, “What in hell is going on?”
I shrugged, hissing back. “We’re, um, dead? On the other hand, maybe not. Maybe you’re not here at all. Except you’re in most of my other dreams, too.”
Aaron rolled his eyes and looked embarrassed, but also sort of pleased. “I’m in your dreams?”
“Pretty much.”
He nodded. “Like, do we ever—”
“I think we need to concentrate on what’s going on outside.”
“Which is what?”
“Not sure yet.” I straightened up, addressing the class. “Seriously, if any of you want to live, you’ll need to listen to me.”
Everyone pressed their faces against the Science Room window and saw the Smoking Girls with their pasty eyes and chunk-bitten arms chunk-biting seniors outside the cafeteria.
Miss Last said, “Oh, shit.”
For the first time I realized she probably had a boyfriend and listened to records at night and drank cheap beer while watching sitcoms and couldn’t wait for every school day to end, just like everyone else, standing there in her itchy skirt, explaining the difference between Paleolithic and pahoehoe.
“Give me your key ring,” I said.
Miss Last stared at me for a moment and then, amazingly, unhooked it from her belt.
The class moved through the hallway as I instructed, single file and with precision. Somehow I knew zombies hated precision. Near the computer lab a security guard was emptying his revolver into the ceiling, while three toothy jazz-dance girls swarmed his legs. Some freshman was trying to stuff himself into a locker. Principal Whithers was digging his incisors into Kirsty Fripp’s calf. He looked up at me with a big, unseeing zombie smile. I shattered a display case with one kick, rooted around inside for something heavy, and brained him.
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