"I know," Phoebe replied. She was thinking about Kevin. One of the teachers had started yelling at them when he'd discovered them in the hall, and had already vowed to have them both expelled, when Principal Kim arrived and told the teacher to get back to his room and shut up. "It was stupid."
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"Principal Kim is making you serve the detention?"
Phoebe nodded. She said that it would be in everyone's best interest if Phoebe accepted the wrist slap, as a complete lack of punishment might be perceived by the student body as special treatment for differently biotics. She didn't actually come out and apologize, but Phoebe could tell from her tone that Principal Kim wasn't happy about the decision. Phoebe accepted the punishment without comment. Kevin didn't say another word the whole time they were in the office, even when Principal Kim called the Hunter Foundation and asked that they send a van.
"That is so unfair."
"I regret nothing," Phoebe said. She was worried about Kevin, worried he'd go to the foundation and shut down, fearful of trads. He'd made some gains over the past few months, and it would be a shame for all his progress to be erased.
"My only great ...regret ... in life," Colette said, "is that I was not able ...to get ...my brother's LPs before ...my parents threw me out of the house."
Phoebe smiled at her from her seat on the floor, at the exotic way "LPs" sounded in her whispery voice. Colette was stretched out on her stomach and hanging over the edge of Margi's bed, a glossy black LP jacket in her hands. The gray was all but gone from her hair, but Phoebe thought that might have been because Margi was dyeing it.
"Why?" Margi asked, taking the jacket from her. She'd bought it at a yard sale ages ago because she liked the cover. "We don't even have a record player, and I've probably got his stuff on MP3."
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"I'm feeling ... retro," Colette said, reaching for Margi's cat, Familiar, who shied away from her.
Phoebe thought it didn't have anything to do with her records but instead had to do with her brother himself,
"Have you heard from him?" Phoebe asked. "Your brother, I mean?"
Colette shook her head. "I don't even ...know ...where he ...is," she said. "He's probably ...still on ...foreign soil. He could be ...dead, for all ... I know."
"Oh, Colette."
"Well, he could. He's past the age of resurrection too. I think he turns ...twenty-five ...this year."
"Twenty-five?" Margi said. "Might as well be dead."
Colette threw a pillow, but it went wild and knocked an unlit candle off Margi's shelf. The clunk it made sent Familiar into a corner, and the much heavier clunk that Colette made when she slid off the bed sent the cat into a frenzy.
"Will you quit it?" Margi said. "My parents are liable to think you've finally turned into an eighties horror movie."
Colette's fall had been way more than awkward; the akimbo way she lay reminded Phoebe of a big Raggedy Ann she'd had as a child, and the boneless contortions it would make when thrown. Colette was not quick to untangle the knot of her own limbs, and she was more than a little disturbing to look at, especially given the unnatural angle of her neck.
"I've got ...no ...strings," she said, finally rolling onto her back.
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"Couldn't you find him?" Phoebe asked, managing to get skittish Familiar to come into her lap, where he perched with his eyes bright and focused on Colette. "Through the Web, or something? A government agency?"
"No rights," she said, "and my ...parents ...don't, do not ...ack ...knowledge ...my horrific existence."
"We're going to see them this summer," Margi said without looking up from her computer screen, where she was scrolling through her playlists. A song from Skeleton Crew was playing at the moment. "They still live in Tennessee. I checked."
"Sure ...we ...are," Colette said, looking away. Phoebe could feel Familiar tense up under her hands as she rose to a sitting position.
"We are," Margi told her. "I've got my license and we're going. That's final."
Colette looked back at Phoebe, rolling her eyes up in their sockets until only the white showed. For a terrible moment, Phoebe thought they wouldn't return to normal.
"Whatever."
"You want to talk to your brother, don't you?" Margi said. "Of course ... I do," Colette replied.
"How else are you going to do that? The rest of your crackpot family has already written you off. Your dad is the weak link and we're going to get him to talk."
"What if...Cody ...doesn't want ... to talk to me ...either?"
"He will."
"How do you ...know?"
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"I know all," Margi said. "Sure ...you do."
"I think it's worth trying too," Phoebe said. "I think Cody would want to see you."
"He thinks I'm ...dead," Colette said, and then tried to giggle. "Oh, wait."
"I've Googled the guy a bazillion times," Margi said. "Nothing. There's some Cody Beauvoir that I guess is a lacrosse hotshot at some high school, that's all I get when I Google him."
"I wonder if Cody ...ever Googled ...me."
"He wouldn't get anything but your obituary," Margi said.
"Hey," Phoebe said, "what if we put you up on mysocalledundeath? A picture and a request that if anyone knows Cody to have him contact you through the Web site."
"That's a good idea," Margi said. "Let me get the digital camera."
"Oh ...no," Colette said, "can't we use a pre-death photo? I want him to ...recognize me."
"Anyone who knows you would recognize you," Margi said, but even as she said it she was reaching for a photograph that was framed and sitting on her shelf. It was the same photo that Phoebe had hanging in her locker, the three of them standing outside the Cineplex in Winford. Colette's eyes had a thick streak of dark eyeliner in the corner, so that she looked like an Egyptian princess, her arm was gauntleted in a dozen or so shiny bracelets. Her mouth was open in laughter.
"We should Photoshop us out, Pheebes," Margi said, sliding the photo free of its frame.
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"Then I... would look ... like an insane ... freak," Colette said.
"Welllll..."
"Look how I'm ...laughing."
"Okay," Margi said. She found her digital camera and took a photo of the photo, "the Weird Sisters stay together, then. I'll e-mail it to you, Pheebes, and you can put it up on the site, okay?"
"Absolutely."
"Do you really think ...he'll see it?" Colette said. "Someone will," Phoebe said.
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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
WALKED THROUGH the door into a hug from Mom. So worried, she says. Always worried, but what is the worst that could happen now?
Okay, Phoebe okay, everybody okay. Don't worry so much. "The school called," she said. "I spoke to Principal Kim and she told me what happened. About the graves."
Bananas in a bowl, cookies in a jar on the counter. Used to come home and make a sandwich. Sandwiches and ESPN after school. Miss many things, but miss sandwiches most of all. Since making up with Phoebe, anyhow.
"Adam," Mom at arms length, squeezing shoulders as though checking if real. Real or unreal? Fingers kneading, flesh unyielding. Hard. Stone cold, like rock.
"Adam, do you know who vandalized the cemetery? Was it your friends?"
"Don't...know."
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Looking like she can't believe her son is in the room with her. Maybe not wanting him in the room with her.
"You didn't have anything to do with it, did you?"
Stop, look. Words take time take longer when emotions come first.
"No."
Smiles nervously. Lets go of shoulders, hands shaking as she lights a cigarette.
"There was a boy here to see you earlier, Adam. At least I think he was here to see you; he left when he saw me looking at him through the window. A boy with long, black hair and a terrible scar. He was just standing at the edge of the woods in our backyard and watching the house. Do you know who
I'm talking about?"
Nod. Nod.
"Is he a friend of yours, Adam?"
Says name over and over, like she's afraid to forget it. Or afraid that son will forget it. Is he a friend? Complicated. Not friend, but he is a zombie. That makes us something. Decide to assent.
Nod.
Exhales, smoke leaving lungs like the soul leaves the body. What replaces?
"That boy scares me, Adam." "Me ...too."
After, left leg right walk to bedroom, think about Phoebe. Phoebe has the night off, going with friends. Margi and Colette, Weird Sisters. Good. Glad. Glad for Phoebe, happy happy glad. Happy.
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But worried too. Killing house pets, digging graves. Dangerous activities sure to end in tears. Like dating the dead.
Right leg left hoof it outside to practice. Around car on blocks, across grass. Practice, practice, focus. Forms coming easier now bend leg flex wrist. Focus.
Phoebe almost died because of date with a zombie. Became zombie because of Phoebe's date.
Forms. Concentrate on the forms.
Phoebe. In danger all over again.
Takayuki doesn't wait long. Comes out of woods like he's made of collecting shadows. Wastes no time.
"Adam. I wanted ...you to know ... we did not ...desecrate ...the cemetery."
"Didn't...think so." Didn't, really.
Tak, nonplussed. "It is ...part of their ...plot ... to destroy us."
"Stop ...helping them. No ...pranks."
Tak would spit if he could. Can't. "The 'pranks,' as you ...call them ... are our way ... of telling ...humanity ... we will not... go away."
"Not...working."
"You haven't a right to ...accuse." Leather creaks when he walks. "You, who ...fraternize with ...the living."
"My way ...of...telling ...humanity ...I ...won't go ...away."
Lie. No politics. Just love. Love Phoebe.
Tak looks, doesn't answer. Scared? Not scared. Shrewd.
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"Regardless. I didn't come ... to argue ...but to ...ask." "Ask ...away."
"You should ... be with us... Adam. The others ... would welcome ...your presence. Your ...strength." Very shrewd.
"It does not ...matter ...that we ...disagree. It's ...healthy. I disagreed with ...Tommy. But in the end ...we're both ...zombies."
"In ...the ...end."
Stands, folds arms. See his teeth moving. "I'm not...looking for a sidekick. Most people ...zombie or beating heart...want to follow. I'm looking for ... a partner."
"Flattering."
"Think about it." Eyes are dark but clear through his straight hair. "Decide ...before ...the living ...decide for you."
Gone, back to the woods. No trace, never a trace. Decisions. Master Griffin encouraged decision, best ever. Or is it--Phoebe in danger? Bend knee, arms out. Decide.
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CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
"DID YOU KNOW the real witching hour is at ...three a.m.? That's in seventeen minutes," Margi said, looking back at one of the few light sources left in the room. Colette's face looked smooth and flawless in the spectral light as she leaned against the foot of Margi's bed. There was only room for one and a half people in the bed, so in a show of solidarity the girls joined Phoebe on the floor with sleeping bags.
Familiar meowed, content to have the bed all to himself.
"But really it feels like ...any other ...hour ... to me."
Phoebe yawned. She had started to make a comment about how nice this was, how long it had been since the three of them had a Dawn Patrol, but then she realized that Margi and Colette had done it every single night since Colette moved in, although only one of them slept.
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"I don't know," Margi said. "Some hours seem a little more magical than others." "If you ...say so."
"You aren't getting depressed again, are you?" Margi said. "I'm fresh out of zombie Prozac."
Colette tossed a pillow at the burrito-like shape Margi represented in her sleeping bag, where it landed with a soft plop.
"We used to play board games," Phoebe said "And make ...s'mores." There was a hint of sadness in Colette's voice.
"God, we were corny." Margi wriggled in her sleeping bag. "Hey, C.B., you up for a game of Life? We'll spot you a couple of those little peg-people."
Colette stuck her tongue out at her. "And then Margi ...would tell us about all the boys she was crushing on."
"I did not!"
"And that would take up half the night," Phoebe said, stifling a giggle as Margi popped up, her spiky hair matted and flat on one side.
"Which would end ...the Dawn Patrol," Colette said, "because she would ...put us ... to sleep."
"Har har," Margi said. "You used to fall asleep before eleven o'clock anyhow, so what would you know?"
"Remember the time ... we each drank ...like ... a pot ... of coffee?"
"Phoebe's dad actually yelled at us," Margi said, laughing. "Phoebe's dad. Mr. Low-Key himself. He had his pj's on."
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"'I have ... to give a ...lecture ...tomorrow,'" Colette said, in a fair but off-tempo rendition of his speech.
"We used to tell ghost stories," Phoebe said.
There wasn't any immediate reply. Phoebe wondered if there would ever be a time where she could get through the night with Colette or Adam without every other thing she said being ironic or tragic.
"That was ...fun," Colette said, letting her off the hook in her soft, gentle way. "You always had ...the best...stories."
"Aw, thanks."
"Mine were ...boring. And Margi's always had ... a guy with a ...hook ...and too much ...sex." "A matter of taste."
"I liked Margi's stories," Phoebe said. "Yours too." "Hey, C.B.," Margi said, "why don't you tell Pheebes about dying?"
Phoebe tensed up while waiting for a reply. Tommy had shared the manner of his death with her on the night Adam had been shot. He died in a car crash that also killed his father-- only his father didn't return. The fact that Margi already knew Colette's story caused the sadness to flare in Phoebe's chest; it was another reminder of the closeness her two best friends shared, and how she was on the outside of that closeness.
"It was ...weird," Colette said. "The after part. The death itself ...was stupid. I drowned. I might have ...had a seizure ...or something. Who knows. One minute I was breathing ...the next I ...wasn't."
"You were wedged in a branch," Margi said. "That fallen
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tree we used to jump off. You already weren't moving by the time I got to you."
"Yeah. Stupid. Anyhow ... I was floating after that. I mean I was ...already dead ...but it was like I was floating. Well, sinking. There was this blue light about... a mile away ...and I was just sort of sinking toward it. I remember I ...looked at my hand and it was ...blue ...too ...but I could see ...through it."
"Were you scared?"
"No, not ...really. The water was cool ...not cold but cool ...and I was going down to this ...blue light."
"I read this thing about how when people die and come back--not zombie people but like heart patients and stuff--the light is really this chemical thing in your brain," Margi said.
"Now why would you ...even say ...that?"
"Sorry, I just thought it was relevant."
"It's my ...story. I'll decide what's ...relevant."
"Jeez. Don't get huffy."
"Anyway," Colette said, her eyes tracking the arc of Phoebe's throw pillow to Margi's head. "This ...floating ... to the light took about a day. But I wasn't ...impatient. It was weird, because it...wasn't boring ...either. But the closer ...I got...the faster ... I sank. And when I was near ...the light ...my grandmother ...floated up to me out of ...the light."
"Really?"
"Really. You wouldn't ...have recognized her ...because she was young ...and made of light. But I did. She hugged ...me."
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"No way."
"Way. But not really ...hugged ...because our light bodies kin
d of ... mixed. There were other ...people ...around.... too. One of the things ...she said ...was that I couldn't stay. She was ...sad. I asked her why I ...couldn't stay, but then ... she disappeared. The light disappeared, everything. All ... at once. And then I was ...going up. Like I was dust being ... vacuumed. It... hurt. I was losing ...pieces ...of light."
"What do you mean?"
"It was like ... I was shedding ...beads ... of light. It was ...freezing. And then I was ...back."
"You were back. As in, back in your body?"
"Yes. And I ...was ...naked. In the dark. On a long ...metal ...table. It was dark ...and I could ...see. I tried to ...move ...and I couldn't. At first. It took ...hours ...I guess. I got ...off...fell ...off...the table. There was another ...body ...under a sheet."
"You were in a morgue?"
"Funeral ...home. I got up ...took one step ...toward the door. And then ...someone ...came into ...the room."
"Oh, God," Margi said. "I hate this part."
"He ...started screaming. He was young. College boy, maybe. He was screaming so ...shrill. I wanted to ask ...for help. My mouth opened and ...water came out."
"Ugh."
I've never ...heard ...screaming ...like that. He grabbed a ...push broom ...and started hitting me ...with it. Like I
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was a ...monster. He broke it ... on my ...back. I couldn't even ...feel it." "Oh, Colette."
"He ...jabbed ...stabbed, really ... me with the broken handle ... in the side. He was still...screaming. He was going ... to do ... it... again ...when a man ... in a suit...ran in ...and ...pulled ...him away."
"Welcome back," Margi said.
"It was horrible ...the way he screamed."
Phoebe didn't know what to say.
"The man in the ...suit ...put his coat ...over me. He tried to help me ...sit."
"And then it sort of went downhill from there," Margi said.
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