by Dan Richards
I laughed, despite the voice in the back of my head warning me this would not end well.
“C’mon,” my father said, “you gotta admit we’re going to steal the show at this year’s parade.”
I looked again at Harley in his ham hock suit, then at the costume spilling over in my hands.
“Wait till you see this,” my father said. He held up what looked like a sixty-pound drumstick. “This is what your brother is going to wear.”
The idea of my brother dressed like a drumstick with the bone sticking out his butt brought a whole new dimension to the idea.
“You don’t want to miss out on this crazy ship, do you?” Harley asked.
“Couldn’t he be a fried chicken gizzard?” I threw out.
Harley and my father laughed. “No,” my father said. “Maybe next year.”
I held my costume up to get a better look. There were worse things than being a half rack of ribs. Like being a chicken leg, for instance. Or a ham hock. “What are you going to be?” I asked my father.
“Ah,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “I still have a few surprises up my sleeve. You’ll see soon enough. You’ll see.”
By the time I got home, I had almost convinced myself the meat float was a good idea. After all, how often did you get a chance to dress up in a short rib costume and ride through town with your father’s friends? Maybe they were right. Maybe we would be the hit of the parade.
I entered the kitchen to find my mother holding a paper plate wrapped in plastic.
“A young lady stopped by with this for you,” she said with a smile far too pleased for my own good.
“What is it?” I asked.
She pulled the plastic wrap back to reveal a lovely loaf of zucchini bread. “According to her, this is your favorite.”
“Um, yeah . . . well, about that—” What exactly was I ready to reveal to my Mom? “I hate zucchini bread.”
“Well, at least I know it’s my son I’m talking to and not an alien. She seemed like a very nice girl. She also said to tell you thanks again for the flowers. I take it she’s the one you were dancing with yesterday?”
My mom was pretty quick with the obvious. Apparently, I had not inherited that trait from her. The reality that Becca would see me on the parade float washed over me like a BBQ sauce tsunami. How could I have overlooked that obvious fact?
“Yeah, she’s the one.”
“I see,” my mother said. “Well, I thought she was lovely. It was nice meeting her.”
I retreated to my room. Becca thought I was vegetarian. In one week, I’d be riding on a float proclaiming a love of meat that went back generations in my family. What was I going to do? I couldn’t disappoint my father, not after what had just gone down in Harley’s barn. But I couldn’t go through with it, either. The whole situation had spiraled out of control.
At the moment, what I needed was a way to clear my head. A way to ignore my problems and focus on something simple, something I could grasp, something real. I headed for Ben’s house. Death Intruders 4 was exactly what I needed. Sure, maybe the idea of blood had grossed me out this morning, but so much had happened since then. A little fake blood seemed like nothing to me now. And more than anything, I craved being a child even if only for a little while.
Ben waited at the door for me when I arrived. Sometimes it seemed as if we had a telepathic connection between us.
“I saw you coming down the street,” he said.
Okay, maybe not telepathic but at least he had good vision.
“I need to kill some zombies,” I replied.
“I’m with you there, dude.” He stared at my swollen face. “I just hope you’re not becoming one of them.”
“Shut up.”
We spent the next two hours in zombie wedded bliss. I say that because at one point on level twenty-two we were forced to marry zombie brides, who then chased us with chain saws on our honeymoon. If marriage in real life was anything like that, Ben and I would be married already, maybe twice. After a quick lunch of Cheetos and Otter Pops, we relaxed back on the couch in the family room and put our feet up.
“Your shoes are the size of dog sleds,” Ben said with admiration.
“Thank you. Comes in handy in the winter.”
“I wish I had big feet. I look like a hamster when I walk.”
“Don’t worry, your head more than compensates.”
“Shut up. Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
“Yeah, unfortunately.”
Ben took a closer look. “That must have really hurt.”
“Pretty much. I’m hanging up my square dancing shoes.”
“Can’t blame you. It was pretty fun, though.”
“Maybe for you. I’ve gotta have one of my toes grafted back on. Gretchen ground it off.”
“That’d be pretty cool. I read about a guy who lost all his fingers. They grafted some of his toes onto his hands. He could write and drive and everything.”
“I wonder what happens when he taps his feet.”
“Shut up.” Ben turned suddenly serious. “Kirsten wants to go to the carnival Friday night. She wants you and Becca to come with us.”
Every year during the Irrigation Festival, a cheesy carnival comes to town. It’s the sort of carnival that travels from backwater hole to backwater hole. Some of the rides are so old you can find your parents’ initials carved on them next to their parents’ initials. There are also a host of games guaranteed to defy the laws of physics and cheat you out of your hard-earned allowance. This was not to say I didn’t enjoy going to the carnival. On the contrary, the flashing lights, cotton candy smells, and screams that fill the air are a break from the humdrum of normal small-town life. Except for one small problem.
“I can’t go with Becca.”
Ben stopped cold. “What do you mean?”
The image of me in a half rack of ribs suit sprang to mind.
“She thinks I’m vegetarian.”
“She what? Doesn’t she know your dad owns the butcher shop?”
I let my shoulders sag. “No, and that’s the problem. My dad is planning a float for the parade to promote his business. He wants me to ride on the float. She’s going to see me.”
Ben fought to control the giggles rippling through his body. “Dude. You’re screwed.”
I politely shoved him to the floor. “It’s not funny. She’s gonna kill me.”
Falling to the floor did little to stop Ben’s giggles. He curled up like a giggling snake. “Dude, why did you tell her you were vegetarian?”
That guy knew how to get right to the heart of the matter. If only he had a heart.
I slumped against the doorframe. “Because I’m an idiot. Sometimes I say things around her for no reason.”
Ben stiffened. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Kirsten told me she sometimes listens to Christie Moreno and I said I did, too.”
I smirked loud enough to wake Ben’s cat. “You what?”
“I know. It just came out.”
I pulled him to his feet. “At least you don’t have to dress up in a Christie Moreno outfit for the parade.”
“True,” he agreed.
“No point going to the carnival with you guys. Once she finds out, there’s no way she’ll agree to go with me.”
Ben paused in thought. “I think you’re forgetting something.”
“What’s that?”
“The carnival is the night before the parade. She won’t know yet.”
Hmm . . . his logic did have something to it. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I can live the lie any longer.”
“C’mon,” Ben begged, “it’s just for a few more days. It’ll be fun.”
I pointed to my nose. “You mean square dancing fun?”
“No. Better. C’mon.”
What could be better than square dancing fun? I guess there was only one way to find out. “Oh, alright.”
Monday, I stood in the doorway to the lunch room with my brain in full-scale
turmoil. Jackson was back and already seated next to Becca. Tyler and Ryan were eyeing me like two lost puppy dogs in need of a pat on the head. And I had the sneaking suspicion that everyone else was staring at my swollen face. I had that sneaking suspicion because everyone all morning had been staring at my face. I couldn’t blame them. It’s not often you see a real-life zombie walking around school.
I shuffled toward Tyler and Ryan. Before I got more than a couple steps, hands waved at me from the opposite direction. Ben and Kirsten motioned for me to join them. Abruptly, I turned and headed their way. Tyler and Ryan would understand, though I was sure they wouldn’t. Every move I made these days seemed filled with drama.
I sat down next to Ben and across from Becca. She shoved a pile of construction paper my direction.
“We’re making protest signs for the sit-in,” she said.
“Yeah,” Ben added, holding up his most recent creation. It read Give Veg a Chance. “Thought of it myself. You know, like give love a chance.”
“Yeah, good for you,” I grumbled back. Either he was forgetting our conversation from Saturday or intentionally rubbing it in. I could guess which. I picked up a marker and idly flipped it between my fingers.
Kirsten flashed a smile. “Becca called the newspaper. They’re sending a photographer to cover the story!”
“And my father has a megaphone we can use,” Becca announced. “I tried it at home. It’s REALLY loud.”
“Cool,” Ben said, looking all too excited about the idea of using a megaphone at school. “I can tell jokes to get everyone’s attention.”
“About serving vegetarian entrées?” I asked.
Ben looked around the table. “Oh. Anyone know any vegetarian jokes?”
I could think of a joke all right. It involved a meat float and a guy dressed up like a half rack of ribs. The thought made me shiver.
As if on cue, Becca changed the subject. “I hear the parade is really cool.”
The marker slipped through my fingers.
“It’s okay,” Ben replied. “Most of the floats throw candy into the crowd. It’s like Halloween, if you don’t mind knocking a few toddlers out of the way.”
“My church does a float every year,” Jackson piped up. “My mom’s in charge of it this year.” He turned to Becca. “You can ride on it with me if you want.”
“Oh, that sounds like fun,” Becca replied. “I’ve never been on a float.”
My jaw dropped next to the marker. I didn’t know whether to punch Jackson or hug him. The thought of Becca riding on a float with that guy made me want to climb up on a step stool and yank out his chin hair. But if Becca was riding on a float, then odds were good she wouldn’t see me riding on my dad’s.
“Anyone else want to ride on the float?” Jackson asked.
Becca glanced at Kirsten. “I can’t,” Kirsten lamented. “My cousin is getting married that day and we have to leave early in the morning to go to her wedding.”
Becca looked my way.
“Uh,” I said, trying to think of a plausible excuse. “I promised to spend the day with my family.” Hey, that was true.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Jackson said with a genuine frown. “Our church does a float every year. You guys can ride on it next year.”
“That sounds great,” Kirsten said.
I picked up the marker and took a piece of construction paper. How could it be that the solution to my dilemma involved Becca spending the day with Jackson? And yet who was I to complain? If there was one thing I had discovered since meeting Becca, it was that lying was more stressful than you’d think. I was beginning to wonder if honesty might really be the best policy.
On the way to class, I caught up to Tyler and Ryan. “Hey, guys.”
Ryan gave me a wave. “Hey, Stu.”
Tyler gave me a different gesture. He still seemed miffed that I hadn’t sat with them at lunch.
“Do you want to go to the carnival with us Friday night?” Ryan asked.
Judging from Tyler’s demeanor, the answer I was about to give would not go over well. “I can’t. I have plans already,” I said, hoping my vagueness would be enough for them.
“Let me guess. You’re going with your church group,” Tyler said, his voice thick with sarcasm.
“No.”
“Must be going with your family.”
He knew that wasn’t a reality. “Not quite.”
“Then who?”
“Ben asked me to go with him.”
“Just Ben?”
“And a couple others.”
“Girls,” Tyler said with distaste.
“Kirsten and Becca,” I admitted.
“Instead of going with us,” Tyler clarified for Ryan, “they’re going with their girlfriends.”
“They’re not our girlfriends,” I said with all the defense I could muster.
Tyler motioned for Ryan to follow as he turned and walked off toward class. “Have fun with your girlfriends.”
Why was everyone so dramatic these days?
The remainder of the school week held more of the same. I continued to make sit-in signs at lunch with Becca and the other protestors. Tyler continued to ignore me. And I continued to stress over my double life as a vegetarian by day and meat eater at night. All in all, the week wasn’t really so bad. If only it had ended before Friday night.
I spent Friday afternoon fretting over what to wear, what to do, and, in particular, what to say on a date. Not that this was technically a date, since neither Becca nor I had asked the other. But as far as I was concerned, it was my first date. Every possible scenario sprang to mind in which I could embarrass myself, including roller-coaster-induced vomiting, cotton-candy-induced vomiting, and vomiting brought on by other fits of vomiting. I wasn’t paranoid—I was just afraid that everything and everyone was out to get my stomach.
My father popped by my room. “So I hear you’re going to the carnival with Ben and a couple girls.”
“Who told you that?”
“Mom.”
Figured. “We’re just friends.”
My father eyed me like Harley had the weekend before. A smile curved his lips as he nodded with satisfaction. “You’re a young man now. And a good one at that. Treat those girls nice. Show respect.” He gave me a wink. “And if she wants a kiss, do you know what to do?”
That was the furthest thought from my mind. Up until that moment. Now it was the only thought in my mind. What would I do? I had watched TV. I understood what a kiss was. But suddenly all the mechanics involved seemed overwhelming. What do you do with your hands? Do your feet touch? Where do your arms go? Do you close your eyes? What exactly goes on with your lips?
My father nudged my shoulder. “Just enjoy the moment.”
My mother called from downstairs. “Stu! Ben’s here.”
My father left my room with a parting nod. I sat staring at my shoes. After my father’s comment, I wasn’t ready to leave the house. I needed time to think. But wasn’t all my thinking what kept getting in the way? First, I was too slow choosing a square dancing partner. Then too slow in asking her to slow dance. And now I wanted a few months to understand the details of giving a proper kiss. So far, all my careful thinking had done me no good at all. I pulled on my shoes and grabbed a coat. For once, I would act without thinking. Just enjoy the moment. Yeah, right.
On the way to the carnival, Ben and I discussed how the date would work.
“The girls are meeting us at the entrance at seven. We can go on a few rides, get some snacks, and then head over to the games. Did you bring money?”
I pulled out a wad of bills. “This is all my allowance money since Christmas.”
“How much you got there?”
“Twenty-seven dollars.”
Ben stopped short. “Is that all? What sort of allowance is that?”
“I might have missed a few chores along the way.”
“Dude.”
“Shut up.”
“You better h
ope Becca doesn’t expect you to pay her way.”
“Seriously? Do girls expect that?”
Ben shook his head. “Are you kidding? Have you watched movies? The guy always carries a lot of money, and the woman always spends it.”
Ben’s mother looked back at us. “What sort of movies have you been watching? This is the modern age. A woman does not go around spending her man’s money. Unless he’s foolish enough to let her,” she added with a laugh. “You’re too young to be paying a lady’s way to anything. Just go have fun. And I’ll be back to get you at nine thirty.”
“I hope she’s right,” I whispered. Otherwise, I was going to need a real job. And I didn’t like the sound of that.
The lights of the carnival lit up the night sky like a portable city. Smells of popcorn, cotton candy, corn dogs, and axle grease filled the air. Music blasted from speakers strung randomly about the grounds. All in all, it was about as awesome as a middle-school kid could hope for, short of a real-life zombie apocalypse. In fact, if a zombie apocalypse were to occur, I couldn’t think of a better place to enjoy the moment than in this wonderland of sights, smells, and shadowy places to hide. Ben and I got out of the car and headed for the main entrance.
“This is awesome!” Ben exclaimed.
“Yeah, almost better than Death Intruders 4,” I replied, listening to the screams and occasional heaves of people on a ride called the Zipper. “If only there were rotting people chasing us.”
Ben grinned. “That would be the best! Especially if there were chain saws lying around.”
“And flamethrowers,” I added. Zombies lacked the dexterity to work a flamethrower, which was a shame for them since there were so many lying about in Death Intruders 4. Lucky us.
We reached the front gate. Half an hour later, the girls still hadn’t shown up.
“Do you think they’re coming?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Ben replied, “women are always late.”
“How do you know that?”
Ben kicked at the ground. “My dad told me. He said women take forever getting ready and I better get used to waiting ’cause I’ll be doing it for the rest of my life.”