Night of the Zombie Chickens

by Julie Mata

  “Really, he makes movies? You actually heard that?”

  Doris adjusts her glasses. “Noah Fleming told me in Biology.”

  Noah Fleming is like Doris reincarnated as a boy. He’s a supersmart science geek. He’s not bad looking, in a tall, skinny way, but his nerd factor totally outweighs his cute factor. Plus, Paul and Blake stuck him with the unfortunate nickname Nose Phlegmy.

  I peer at Doris. “How did Noah hear that?”

  “Noah’s locker is near Tristan’s, so they were talking. I guess Noah mentioned you and your movie. That’s his name—Tristan Kingsley.”

  Tristan. Jeez, even his name is cool. A strange tingling starts in my face. People were talking about me. The new boy from NYC was talking about me. He probably did a double take when he heard I’ve already made a feature-length movie. It is just a little impressive. The tingle turns to a warm glow. And then it hits me. Noah’s locker is just down from mine. That means Tristan’s locker is near mine, too. We can talk movies together. It will be so great to have a filmmaker buddy! A cool NYC filmmaker buddy with blond hair falling in one eye.

  I’m still pondering my movie as I head for the bus after school. It’s early April and most of the snow has melted into gray slush. I hate my clunky snow boots so I left them at home. Now, the cold slop seeps into my sneakers. By the time I climb on the bus, my feet are soaked. I slide in next to Lizzy and she grins and removes her earbuds.

  Lizzy Chang’s family moved to Medford when she was in fifth grade. Her parents speak with an accent and Lizzy speaks perfect English and perfect Chinese. Sometimes, just for fun, or when she’s mad, she’ll talk to herself in Chinese so we don’t know what she’s saying. We’re all good friends but Mimi Reynolds is her BFF. Mimi’s family moved to Texas a month ago, so it’s been a tough time for Lizzy. She’s tiny, even shorter than me. Some people make a mistake and think she’s delicate, like a china doll. Really, Lizzy’s more like the Great Wall of China. Have a run-in with her and she’ll be the last one standing. She’s tough and funny and, best of all, she likes making movies.

  Olivia Sykes leans forward from the seat behind us. “Anything exciting happen in school today?”

  “Why weren’t you in gym class?” Lizzy asks.

  Olivia pops her gum. “A field trip. We went to the art museum.”

  “No fair!” Lizzy exclaims. “Why didn’t we get to go?”

  Olivia shrugs. “It was fun.”

  Lizzy loves painting and crafty stuff. She can take fabric and whip up a cute toy or purse while the rest of us are still staring at our material, trying to figure out what to do.

  Olivia lowers her voice. “Jack Timner got in trouble at the museum today.”

  Lizzy grins. “What’d he do?”

  We both glance toward the back of the bus where Jack sits. He isn’t a bad kid, but he can’t settle down. He’s always trying to be the center of attention. He’ll do any stupid thing if he thinks someone will laugh, which lands him in trouble a lot. Jack isn’t laughing now, though. His face is sullen, legs splayed out in the aisle. He’s probably hoping someone will trip over them.

  Jack suddenly looks up and catches my eye, like he knows we’re talking about him. He glares and I look away. Both his parents are ex-military. I heard they crack down hard on Jack and have threatened to send him to military school. No wonder he looks glum.

  “He pretended like he was going to draw on a painting,” Olivia whispers.

  I give a delighted gasp of horror. Even I know that is serious. That’s like joking on an airplane that you hope the bomb in your suitcase doesn’t go off. “Are you kidding? What happened?”

  “He was holding up a marker near a painting, trying to be funny for his buddies, and two guards ran over shouting at him. They grabbed him and took him away, and Mr. Graves had to go talk to the museum director. Now Jack can’t go on any more field trips and he’s got about a month of detentions. They called his parents.” Olivia makes a face. “You know what that means.”

  I risk another glance at Jack. That’s when I notice Tristan Kingsley sitting in the seat behind Jack. I quickly turn around. I can hardly believe my luck. The cute moviemaking boy from New York City rides my bus.

  Olivia taps me on the shoulder. “So when do you start your next movie? I really want to be a zombie.”

  “Haven’t you heard?” Lizzy says importantly. “No zombies this time. Kate’s going to do something completely different. She’s just not sure what.”

  “Oh, I know!” Olivia squeals. “You HAVE to do a vampire movie! Vampires would be SO cool. And we could make it really scary. Everyone would want to be in it!”

  I try not to roll my eyes. Vampires are so overdone.

  “I keep telling her it should have werewolves,” Lizzy says. “Werewolves are cool.”

  “They are,” Olivia admits, “but they’re too furry. Who wants to look like a rabid dog? Vampires are hot.”

  The bus chugs up to Lizzy and Olivia’s stop. They’re still debating werewolves versus vampires as they get off. It’s Jack Timner’s stop, too. His backpack hits me in the back of the head as he goes by. Probably payback for staring at him. “Sorry,” he calls over his shoulder, smirking.

  Hot vampires, hairy werewolves—I sigh and lean back. I’m pretty sure Alyssa doesn’t want to wear fangs or fur. It’s great that so many kids want to be in my movie, but I’m going to need someone to help me control the chaos. I need an assistant. Who would be right for the job? I stare out the window at the bare trees flying past. Gray slush splatters the dirty snow mounded on the curbs as we pass by. Winter always drags on too long, like one of those boring black-and-white foreign films that never ends. I slip off my shoes. My socks are wet and my toes feel like tiny blocks of ice.

  The bus slows down as we enter a development on the edge of town. It’s called Deer Hollow even though the deer are long gone. This area used to be full of trees but now it’s lined with big, fancy houses. We stop at a new home and Tristan swings past and hurries down the bus steps. I watch him walk up the long driveway. What kind of movies has he made? Most likely short ones with his friends. He would probably love to help make a longer movie. That’s when it hits me. Tristan would be the perfect assistant director! I may not be a big-time Hollywood player yet, but I can teach him what I’ve learned so far.

  We stop at a few more houses in Deer Hollow until I’m the last person on the bus. Sal, the bus driver, has to drive another ten minutes on country roads to reach my home. I sigh and wish for the millionth time that my family had moved to Deer Hollow instead of a run-down farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. The funny thing is, we have tons of deer. All the ones that got chased off by the mega-house invasion must have headed over to our place.

  Sal glances at me through the big mirror over his head. I always feel bad for him because he has a girl’s name. He’s Italian and I guess it’s short for Salvatore. The boys on the bus all call him Sally but he doesn’t seem to mind.

  “You decided what your next movie’s about, Kate?” he calls out. Sal’s a big film buff. He even came to my premiere.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe a romance.”

  Sal twists his lower lip, like he sucked on a lemon. “Romance? Hmmm. Could be tricky.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  The bus finally wheezes to a stop outside our house and I hurry up the aisle. “Crime drama,” Sal says out of the corner of his mouth, like he’s offering me a shady tip on a horse race. “Italian mafia. Hasn’t been done well since The Godfather.” He taps his head. “I got all kinds of stories. From my grandfather, about the old days. Somebody needs to make it into a movie.”

  This stops me in my tracks. “Your grandfather was in the mafia?”

  Sal laughs like this is a funny joke. “No, no, no. Maybe.” He shrugs. “He knew people who knew people.”

  I’m dying to ask Sal if he’s in the mafia too, but if he admitted it, then he might have to kill me so I couldn’t tell anyone.

  “I’ll thi
nk about it,” I promise.

  What I’m really thinking about as I swing off the bus is how great it would be to have a cute A.D. from NYC helping me on my next project. The thought warms my insides, all the way down to my frozen feet.

  Debut author Julie Mata co-owns a film/video production business, where she works as the producer and writer. Previously she pounded out copy as a television reporter, producer, and freelance writer. She’s also owned chickens, although none were zombies, as far as she knows!